The temple priest has rung his bell. A cloud of smoke from candles and lamps Haloes the Goddess, glowing bright. This beat of drums both maddens and dulls.
The incense burns: so heady the musk, Our senses flounder in the flood. This endless chant of sacred words Soon drugs our lips and stuns our minds.
The Goddess, always staring down: Her painted pupils cut through smoke And read the secret thoughts we think. We somehow feel this within our hearts.
To Mother, we know, we bow and pray – Her form not just this image of clay.
