Master, Your Grace — 18!

As I sit to meditate
on your form mother
a question arises
from the deepest recess of
my heart.
Do I even have
right to call upon you?

Shouldn’t I be praying
to goddesses who benefit
gold and lands.
That’s what I have always wanted.
Isn’t it.
A transactional mind
always busy
calculating gains & losses.

What if you manifested in my samsara?
What if my dwelling became
a cremation ground?
What if the gold chain I wear
turned into a Mundmala.
Will I really be happy then?

There are no gold coins
flowing through your hands
Rather
there is a severed head.
A head.
A Slain head
Representing my vices, Maybe.

There is no smile on your lips
rather a blood-stained tongue
The blood as red as
My innermost passionate desires
The very desires that keep
bringing me back here
to this samsara
Again and Again.

Your hair isn’t adorned with Ashoka flowers
They are dry, open, and unkempt
Just like my thoughts
Untamed, Unchannelised, Uninhibited.

I have nothing to gain from you
I have all to lose
Your dark form
Shall annihilate all the darkness
That, I have been carrying across lifetimes
It shall set me free.

But
Don’t come, O Kali!!
Even If I call upon you
Cause
I am not ready yet!!

Or make me ready

ऐं ह्रीं क्लीं चामुण्डायै विच्चै।।