Who hugs pain and sorrow to his bosom?

Misery in his cup of happiness,

Deadly venom in his drink of nectar,

Poison in his throat - yet he clings to hope!

Lo! how all are scared by the Terrific,

None seek Elokeshi (She with untied hair, a name of Kli, the Divine Mother) whose form is Death.

The deadly frightful sword, reeking with blood,

They take from Her hand, and put a lute instead!

Thou dreaded Kli, the All-destroyer,

Thou alone art true; Thy shadow's shadow

Is indeed the pleasant Vanamli. (Literally, he who is garlanded with wild flowers. The Shepherd Krishna in His aspect of youthful sport.) O Terrible Mother, cut quick the core,

Illusion dispel - the dream of happiness,

Rend asunder the fondness for the flesh.

True, they garland Thee with skulls, but shrink back In fright and call Thee, "O All-merciful!"

At Thy thunder peal of awful laughter,

At Thy nudeness - for space is thy garment - Their hearts sink down with terror, but they say, "It is the demons that the Mother kills!"

They only pretend they wish to see Thee,

But when the time comes, at Thy sight they flee. Thou art Death! To each and all in the world

Thou distributes" the plague and disease

- Vessels of venom filled by Thine own hands.

O thou insane! Thou but cheatest thyself,

Thou cost not turn thy head lest thou behold.

Ay, the form terrible of the Mother.

Thou courtest hardship hoping happiness,

Thou wearest cloak of Bhakti and worship,

With mind full of achieving selfish ends.

The blood from the severed head of a kid

Fills thee with fear - thy heart throbs at the sight -

Verily a coward! Compassionate? (The idea is that the brave alone can be compassionate, and not the coward.) Bless my soul! A strange state of things indeed!

To whom shall I tell the truth? - Who will see?

Free thyself from the mighty attraction -

The maddening wine of love, the charm of sex.

Break the harp! Forward, with the ocean's cry!

Drink tears, pledge even life - let the body fall.