She is all beauty –
this woman nude and terrible and black,
who tells the name of God
on the skulls of the dead,
who creates the bloodshed on which demons fatten,
who slays rejoicing and repents not,
and blesses him only that lies [bad word] beneath Her feet.
Her mass of black hair
flows behind Her like the wind,
or like time “the drift and passage of things.”
She is blue almost to blackness,
like a mighty shadow,
and bare like the dread realities of life and death.

O Mother Kali with a necklace of human heads!
What magic hast Thou shown me!
O Mother! Thou didst teach me how to call Thee ‘mother,’
and make me mad calling Thee ‘mother’ constantly.
Tell me, O Mother Tara,
where Thou didst get such a name full of nectar
Worldly people call me Prasad
whenever they meet me.
Even the members of my family call me names.
But do I deviate from my path,
O Mother Kali, being misled by their abuses?
Let them say whatever they like;
I will always mutter ‘Kali,’ ‘Kali.’
Honour and dishonour are all alike to me;
I have cast aside maya,
And made Thy rosy feet the be-all-and-end-all of my life;
shall I be misguided by worldly people anymore?

In dense darkness, O Mother, Thy formless beauty sparkles;
Therefore the yogis meditate in a dark mountain cave.
In the lap of boundless dark, on Mahanirvana’s waves upborne,
Peace flows serene and inexhaustible.
Taking the form of the Void, in the robe of darkness wrapped,
Who art Thou, Mother, seated alone in the shrine of samadhi?
From the Lotus of Thy fear-scattering Feet flash Thy love’s lightnings;
Thy Spirit-Face shines forth with laughter terrible and loud!

I shall [bad word] a yogi and dwell in Love’s mountain cave;
I shall be lost in yoga beside the Fountain-head of Bliss.
I shall appease my hunger for Knowledge with the [bad word] of [bad word] 
I shall worship the feet of God with the flower of Dispassion.

I shall not seek a well to slake the burning thirst of my heart,
But I shall draw the water of Peace into the jar of my soul.
Drinking the glorious Nectar of Thy blessed Lotus Feet,
I shall both laugh and dance and weep and sing on the heights of Joy.

This time I shall devour Thee utterly, Mother Kali!
For I was born under an evil star,
And one so born [bad word]  they say, the eater of his mother.
Thou must devour me first, or I myself shall eat Thee up;
One or the other it must be.

I shall besmear my hands with black
and with black my face;
With black I shall besmear the whole of my body.
And when Death seizes me,
with black I shall besmear his face.

O Mother I shall eat Thee up
but not digest Thee;
I shall install Thee in my heart
And make Thee offerings with my mind.

You may say that by eating Kali
I shall embroil myself
With Kala, Her husband,
but I am not afraid;
Braving His anger,
I shall chant my Mother’s [bad word] what may, I shall eat Thee up-
Thee and Thine retinue –
Or lose my life attempting it.

Crazy is my Father, crazy is my Mother,
And I, their son, am crazy too!
Syama is my Mother’s name.
My Father strikes His cheeks and makes a hollow sound:
Ba-ba-boom! Ba-ba-boom!
And my Mother, [bad word] and reeling,
Falls across my Father’s body!
Syama’s streaming tresses hang in vast disorder;
Bees are swarming numberless
About Her crimson Lotus Feet.
Listen, as She dances, how Her anklets ring!

Is Kali, my Mother, really black?
The Naked One, of blackest hue,
Lights the Lotus of the Heart…

Cherish my precious Mother Syama
Tenderly within, O mind;
May you and I alone behold Her,
Letting no one else [bad word]