Witchy Woman

So anyone who knows me will tell you that I’m not a huge fan of The Eagles (they whine a lot) but really, nothing else fit better here.

Witchy Woman

She first came to me
When I was heart-broken and angry
And she said, ‘Love?’
‘Why, it’s in your own hands!’
And flew away.

I was young then.
I didn’t know what she meant.
I cast spells.
I chanted ancient prayers.
Love? I thought it would never come to me.
Then when I gave up on the prayers and the chanting,
And when the sun was bright and high on the horizon,
When I least expected it – it did.
His voice was no different than I remembered.
But his tone was altered.
There was love and penitence in everything he said.
And I felt warm and I felt good.
He said, ‘Sorry.’ He added that he’d always loved me.
He said he regretted the choices he made.
But he was a man and he had to stick by his decisions.
I could only nod yes through my tears and my smiles.
He reminded me of songs we’d made love to.
And there I was feeling like a woman again
Free-spirited, high, and powerful.

I saw her then.
But she only shook her head.
And then she flew away.

I fell in love with another man later.
And he loved me gently.
I felt cherished and I felt secure.
But he walked away and he never looked back.
And he told me before he left.
He told me why he left.
He said I was barren and would never bear a child.
He said there was nothing womanly in the way I loved.
I forced, he said, and I took, he added.
And I willed it enough and made it rape, he said.
I lost my will at that.
I lost all my thoughts and my own strength.
I curled into a ball and suffered an old woman’s pain.
My hands wouldn’t even form the pentagram.
My elements were all mixed-up.
Eights turned in places of fives.
I found no comfort in any place.
I was hurt and aching beyond solace.

And that’s when she came to me again.
She said, ‘Fertility?’
‘Why, it’s in your own hands!’
And flew away.

Cynical, I couldn’t believe her then.
I couldn’t imagine what she meant.
I stayed alone, closed myself.
Pining away, I cried for the children
Those I thought I’d never bear.
The knights came to my life then.
Just like in ancient times.
They fought for me and with me.
They took from me when I didn’t want to give.
They showed me worlds I’d never known
And possibilities, I’d never considered.
They gave me love, I’d never felt
And purity, I didn’t believe existed.
They were mine and I belonged to them.
And so one bright morning, I told them.
That I wanted to bear my best friend a child.
His blue eyes made no promises
And that was promising enough to me.
He left my world, but not my life.
And he kept his word and kept me sane.
The other one kept my spirits high
Even when his own flagged low.
He showed me what it would be like
To love a child, to make him your own.
He kept me wrapped deep in his heart.
He left taking a piece of me and protected me still.
And then I wept. And then I smiled.
And then I was happy.

I saw her again then.
But she only shook her head.
And then she flew away.

I asked a wise woman I loved
Who had also borne much pain.
She advised me but gave me no answer.
She gave me comfort and she gave me a home.
And she loved me like a kin and she gave me the means.
To get what I wanted.

And so this time I went to her.
I didn’t wait for her to come to me.
It was misty and it was windy.
There were prickly needles
And I quietly bore the pain.
I had to pass the trial by fire.
I had to burn before she let me find her.
And then when I couldn’t bear the pain anymore,
She showed her arts to me.
The moon was full – blue and green.
She was flying fast and high to the moon.
She was surrounded by stars.
I saw her beauty, I saw her happiness.
I saw her sexuality and rejoiced in her power.
Her breasts were big and beautiful.
Her face was made for loving.
And I saw that she was complete in herself.
And now I knew what she had meant.

The moon was mine to claim it.
The child was mine to bear.
The love, it was always there.
So I flew with her on the broomstick
High on a windy night, a full moon night,
Exhilarated we laughed.
And I forgot all the pain.
And I was finally free!
And while everyone possessed me
I belonged only to me.

And if you like the tattoo you see, get in touch with me so I can share details of the artist who captured the image that was only in my head and translated it on to paper and then inked it on my skin.

Deep, darling, thank you so much.


About Bhumika's Boudoir

I love to laugh, and end up being a part of high drama and stormy emotion even when I don't pursue it. Being creative, and communicating with people get me going. I enjoy all the good things in life especially those that are slightly risque, and apologise little, if ever, for all that I do. Literature is a passion and so is music.
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8 Responses to Witchy Woman

  1. cheryl says:

    I don’t often follow links or blogs. Though when i do get in, i read almost everything. And i never leave comments. But…

    this is very good Bhumika! Well done. I like this mood and the tone.

    I also remember reading another of your pieces that i thought was very good where you interspersed verse and prose. And what struck me then was that it had resonance and it was because it felt authentic.

    Good luck and God bless!


    • cheryl says:

      ouch! i did not pay attention… did not realise that a comment would be published to the world!! sigh! i am way behind the times!


    • Wow! Cheryl. Thank you so much for visiting and commenting. Iโ€™m just so bloody pleased. And I am really really glad you like it. And yes, I am working on some of that old prose-poetry stuff now that Iโ€™ve been laid off and all. ๐Ÿ™‚


  2. Marsha says:

    Love the tattoo & I absolutely love the way you write! Muah!


  3. Manasee Jog says:

    bhumika ๐Ÿ™‚ am so very proud of you, my child ๐Ÿ™‚


    • ๐Ÿ™‚ Yes, my love. You should be. And now you can please stop telling everyone stories of how I howled/moaned like I were in the throes of deep passion/fainted when Deep began the tattoo. Or other such versions. Bloody nonsense woman! And wait till you come face to face with the flat needle. I will hold your hand, of course. ๐Ÿ˜€


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