La lupa!

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It's always 3.30 am which ticks the “she wolf” and unleashes her within. She is hunted by this early hour, and then it's impossible to fall asleep.
She misses her pack, and there's a void she is never able to understand. Her poetries howl at her complaining to seek some more attention, asking if it was all a lie, or her words did betray her.
She wasn't allowed in her pack. She was lost, abandoned! 
Death comes to her in pieces and meets her daily, but never embraces her. She bleeds every month to remind herself that she has the power of recreation. Because she is the origin, she has a womb. This crimson tide reminds her of power, for she is the source of life. 
She carries the spirit of September Wolf, and she harvests the emotions that are all ripe, she braids them into poetry and then, with a final release, sets them free into the world.
Her eyes hold a smile that is still missed. Love was woven into her braids, her hair a fragrant repository of secrets. 
She was like cologne, a woman in transformation, a loyal 'La lupa' devoted to her pack, her very being forged by the power of her words.
She was tied by her words, beneath her books, she never covered them, she was free and her poems allowed her to fly.
She was the girl, whose secrets were hidden under her curls, when she delayed taking care of them. 

And one fine day, the transformation stopped, as if something died. Her cologne just vanished, sucking all the power with it, leaving her wondering, where did she even go wrong. 
There was no place for her poetry, because she had nothing belonging to her. 
Life had just stopped watering her plants and now they have started drying, there’s no feminine moisture in her soil, no flowers or leaves.  Abandonment? 
No, this is a hollow void, a vacuum where love once resided.
Peace remains elusive, a foreign current in her veins, she keeps on visiting packs, an ideal la lupa, but she is not allowed there.
Ostracized! 
She is no longer a wolf woman, she is no longer a wolf. She has a mask on. Scratch that, “She has masks on” and now she is unaware of who she is. 
And still, the question echoed: where did the fault lie?

Shruti Sawant.




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