Mother, thou axe obsidian to thine obedient's slaughter

Albeit we are such stone as against which sacred mountains, snow-clad, up rise
Flint heart- must thy kick to the chest, yet, Love Connubial, surprise?

Mother, thou axe obsidian to thine obedient's slaughter
Mercy skull garland thee, Himavat's daughter

Can mercy be found in the heart of her who was born of the stone? [a reference to Kali as the daughter of Himalaya]

Were she not merciless, would she kick the breast of her lord?

Men call you merciful, but there is no trace of mercy in you, Mother.

You have cut off the heads of the children of others, and these you wear as a garland around your neck.

It matters not how much I call you "Mother, Mother." You hear me, but you will not listen.^[15]

sung by the tragic Pannalal Bhattacharya