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Kali the Mother.
The stars are blotted out,
Clouds are covering clouds,
It is darkness, vibrant, sonant.
In the roaring whirling wind
Are the souls of a million lunatics,—
But loosed from the prison house,—
Wrenching trees by the roots,
Sweeping all from the path.
The sea has joined the fray,
And swirls up mountain-waves,
To reach the pitchy sky.
Scattering plagues and sorrows,
Dancing mad with joy,
Come, Mother, Come!
For Terror is thy name,
Death is in Thy breath.
And every shaking step
Destroys a world for e'er.
Thou "Time" the All-Destroyer!
Then come, O Mother, Come!
Who can misery love,
Dance in destruction's dance,
And hug the form of Death,—
To him the Mother comes.
V.
114
