The winds proclaim her arrival
she, who dwells in three lands
in oceans, in tornadoes
in flowers, in thorns
With countenance of
a hundred-billiion moons
when pleased; irate she is
the dark night of savage doom;
stopable by only her ascetic Lord.
Shiuli flowers carpet themselves and early roses rush to infuse their scent
Neither thunder, nor rain
nor snow nor hail
not simmering waves of
Sun’s fierce, majestic rays
dare diminish nature’s equanimity;
it’s all so mild and affable
for soon it’ll be her arrival
and they’ll bring her idol
trident in hand, fearsome
to evil; emanating compassion and love to poor, helpless and
unenlightened, like us.
It is just an idol
for some; for some
it is our reason to live
and our reason to love
all what her divinity has made
She is there, therefore, we are unafraid;
for even though they may
take away her idol
with tears in their eyes,
and hopeful of her return
with same fanfare the next year,
yet, in our hearts all of us know
each moment she dwells inside us
guiding, protecting, nurturing
her ignorant children at every
single juncture.