Black Mother Poem by Prativa Dey

Call me Kali
Everyone says that.
Mayer ink rubbed
If he is called black.
Shiva falls with it
To the feet says wise.
Myrtle ink on those hairs covered
To say.
Those eyes of wisdom in the world
There are positions.
That is why the mother falls
You have to find the wire.
Hold on to his feet
I was looking for him.
When he woke up
The mother died in shame
The creature cut her off.
That is why the knowledge of Shiva rests on the feet of the weaker mother.
Mund beads melt
Say he is an upset boy
Don't keep my family
How are you my boy
Hey!