I, brave Inca, I take maca, leaf of life and source of strength.
When I travel I chew coca, takes me through my journey's length
But, when I need great advantage, maca fires my fierce intent;
To the warrior gives great courage; to his foe, a dread torment.
Maca, maca, woe to women caught betwixt their men and me:
Enemy, take flight! The demon deep within the herb sets free
All my darkest raging passions, all my deep resentful ire,
All those buried aberrations. Objects of my dread desire,
Women were the spoils of battles; women had no right to moan:
Maca gave the Inca chattels, enemy girls just things to own.
Generals now forbid the taking of our aphrodisiac herb.
Female slaves no more are quaking. We our basest instincts curb.
Copyright © Ingrid Collins