My grief has cried out, raged

for countless centuries,

As witches, I was burnt, 

sent to death as widows.


You have bought and sold

my body, killed me as babies,

bloodied, bruised, raped,

my spirit, tried to quench.


But forget not, I am Shakti,

the creative principle,

the primordial strength,

the fire, unconquerable.


Without me you would die,

the barren hearth cold,

roaming the barren earth,

for fire to nurture your soul.


I know better than you do

that your hand rises in fear,

you most seek to kill that

which terrifies you the most.


Come, let me show you

the way out of the fear,

Come, be my Shiva,

come, revel in my fire .



C'mon, don't be a silent spectator ....

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