Oh Goddess Kali, how is it unrobed you roam?
Such disgrace, you have no sense of shame;
Mother, you are without clothes-or ornament,
And you boast you are princess of royal descent;
Mother, oh, does it behove, is it right for your lineage?
On the person of your Lord you mount your feet,
Naked yourself, no less your husband so,-
You amble in moors and cremation lands,
Oh Mother, we all blush, die in shame-
Don now my girl, we pray, your clothes;
Forsaking wreathes of gems, oh Mother, you dorn
With corpses round your gracious neck;
Prasad declares, oh Mother, awed Lord Digambara
Of that your fearsome countenance.
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