Kali the Mother |
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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, Who can misery love,
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- www.vivekananda.net edited by Frank Parlato Jr.