A thread of moonlight, spun with grace, Matangi descends, a shadowed space.

Not bright and bold, a fiery hue, But whispers old.

She sits within the dust and stone, A silent watcher, utterly alone.

Not seeking light, nor sun's embrace, But holds the secrets of this place.

A bridge between the seen and unseen, Where past and present softly convene.

She pulls the threads of memory deep, And watches as the spirit sleeps.

The scent of earth, of moss and rain, Reflects the solace, and the pain.

A single leaf, a fading hue.

She doesn't judge, she doesn’t strive

She nutures the things that live Within the spaces, dark and low, Where truth resides, and shadows grow.

A weaver of the unseen thread, Of moments lost, and words unsaid.

Matangi, a quiet, watchful eye, A constant pulse beneath the sky.

She asks no questions, offers grace, A gentle stillness in this space.

To gather fragments, small and frail, And understand the breath of tale.

So gaze upon her, soft and slow, And feel the secrets she bestow.

For in her stillness, deep and vast, Lies Matangi, a shadow cast.

Jai Ma Adya , Jai Ma Matangi