Mā, if You wore a Benarasi sari
and tied up Your hair,
You’d look so good—
   and there’d be no harm in it, Mā,
   no harm at all.
If instead of standing on Daddy
You sat next to Him,
exchanging Your fearful form
for a sweet smile,
if there were no blood smeared on Your body,
   You’d look so good—
   and there’d be no harm in it, Mā.
What if Forgetful Daddy didn’t lie
like a corpse at Your feet
but spoke to You honeyed words?
Think how nice that would be!
The whole world I am sure
would be astonished: Śiva and Kālī
are playing new games
  such an improvement!
   You’d look so good—
   and there’d be no harm in it, Mā.

Because You love cremation grounds
I have made my heart one
so that You
Black Goddess of the Burning Grounds
can always dance there.
No desires are left, Mā, on the pyre
for the fire burns in my heart,
and I have covered everything with its ash
to prepare for Your coming.
As for the Conqueror of Death, the Destructive Lord,
He can lie at Your feet. But You, come, Mā,
dance to the beat; I’ll watch You
with my eyes closed.