"Mother incomparably arrayed, hair flying about, stripped down. You battle-dance on Shiva's heart. A garland of heads bounce off of your heavy hips. Severed arms for a belt, corpses of infants for earrings. Those lips, and teeth like jasmine. Your face a lotus blossom, the laugh. Body dark like a storm cloud, and feet whose splendor is increased by blood. Prasad cries out: My mind is dancing! Can I take much more? Can I bear this impossible beauty?"