కాళీమాత

KALI THE MOTHER

The clouds are covering clouds,

In the roaring, whirling wind

Just loose from the prison-house,

Sweeping all from the path.

And swirls up mountain-waves,

The flash of lurid light

A thousand, thousand shades

Scattering plagues and sorrows,

Come, Mother, come!

Death is in Thy breath,

Destroys a world for e'er.

Come, O Mother, come!

And hug the form of Death,

To him the Mother comes.