Beyond the forms you seek, I stand
Adya, the first, the flame unplanned.
No shrine yet holds My true face,
No chant confines My boundless grace.

The lake where Kanda’s fire was spun,
The wounds of bloodlines left undone
I break the chains your fathers bore,
Yet fools still knock at temple doors.

Praise not the Peethas;I designed their fall,
While you beg scraps, I birthed them all.
Six sparks of Shiva lodged in Me,
Burned to a son none else could see.

Your grief? A thread I twist and tear,
Your lust? My jasmine scents the air.
Child, if shadows stalk your nights,
Know; even ghosts kneel to My rites.

Jai Ma Adya