Snakes, snakes everywhere
around your waist
and in your hair
Goddesses are supposed to be
not warriors that growl and glare.
Your secret I have come to know
that God has made some women mean
who hunt down lies with arrows and a bow
but protect pure and trusting souls.
The leopard covering your skin
shows that you hunt in silent stealth.
The severed arms that reach your shins
and a garland of skulls where pearls should have been.
And the blood—oh, the gore!
Dripping from your gaping mouth,
a lolling tongue that asks for more,
it is demon's blood that you adore.
Why should I bow down in praise
and call you "Ma" like children do
when you leave me in a daze?
Because you lead me through life's crazy maze.
Not a Goddess for the weak, but the brave
who says, "I can!" again and again.
Your mission was always to save
so no one cares if you misbehave.
Dancing in the graveyard—that is Ma Kali
overflowing with electric vibe,
lightning and thunder are her folly.
You make me feel so alive
with your all-seeing snake eyes.