It is smashed to smithereens- so who will be our shaman now: words, bites, sips, touch. It happened for us, as it did for those who preserved in the battlefield of love. Believe me, it mends once we venture within.

It’s a task: our collage of life has been perforated by the shard sticking out from our own quivering heart: But, we are witches and wiser than we know, and Margaret Mascarenhas knew this when she channeled her poetry on the ephemera of intimacy and the imperishable inner wisdom in Triage: Casualties of Love and Sex.

Believe her, she had been lost in the miasma of the enchanting lover too, and her journals witnessed some powerful truth bombs after the spell faded. She, trailblazed through that impermeable wilderness which ensues afterwards, and wrote for us-

“There should be triage
for spirits broken in the
war of love.“
(Triage)

Let her in this moment heal and illumine what seems unfathomable and dark. See her as the dark goddess, holding space for us, as she affirms-

“This is how it is
when you’ve loved
for a thousand years.”
(Sleepwalker)

So let off steam, and let the narcissist fuckboy know the truth-

“It is not your fault
you are who you are
a desert cactus
thriving in inhospitable conditions

But I have strayed with you
Too far
Too long
…
Around you planted
And holding your stupid barren ground.”
(Barren ground)

There will be days, triggering the recesses of history to incriminate the present and the mind will swindle us of our resolve-

“I am plagued
by questions that wake me
in the middle of the night:
Should I have fought harder?
Surrendered sooner?
Demanded more?
Settled for less?
Cut it out?
Developed a strategy?
Given more?
Withheld more?”
(These days)

And it’ll seem that another shattering is underway-

“Why do I search for mirages in the desert of my heart? I hanker
for a place where I can breathe freely.. ”
(These days)

Let it be the rock bottom because from there, we build the foundation of a life of our making, once we’ve reawakened to the realization-

“I came to defend
someone else’s country
with unawavering loyalty, not understanding
that my own territory had been colonised.”

It’ll flare in spirals or strike as plainly as the afternoon sun- the truism- like a deep knowledge unveiled, and no fucks shall be given from then on-

“Look how I spit out the black crow
Look how I refuse the hot air
Look how I no longer receive
your Trojan horses into my heart.”
(Echo gets a Second Chance)

Then, the spells shall be as powerful as poetry and we will sing with Margaret Mascarenhas as our spirit guide, as we direct dissembling ones out and head on to become the powerful Yemanya, the queen of abundant self-love and moon magic and remember-

“…I am a witch
i hold the malachite without fear
i smudge it with oil of lavender
and lemongrass
so that
in the hush of the storm
we can look into each other’s eyes
and smile again.”
(Yemanja)

About the poet: Margaret Mascarenhas was a transnational poet, curator and writer. She passed away on July 14 2019 in Goa. Triage: Casualties of Love and Sex was her first work.