Swami Vivekananda (12 January 1863 - 4 July 1902 / Calcutta / India)

The stars are blotted out,
The clouds are covering clouds,
It is darkness vibrant, sonant.

In the roaring, whirling wind
Are the souls of a million lunatics
Just loose from the prison-house,
Wrenching trees by the roots,
Sweeping all from the path.

The sea has joined the fray,
And swirls up mountain-waves,
To reach the pitchy sky.
The flash of lurid light

Reveals on every side
A thousand, thousand shades
Of Death begrimed and black —
Scattering plagues and sorrows,

Dancing mad with joy,
Come, Mother, come!
For Terror is Thy name,
Death is in Thy breath,

And every shaking step
Destroys a world for e'er.
Thou 'Time', the All-Destroyer!
Come, O Mother, come!

Who dares misery love,
And hug the form of Death,
Dance in Destruction's dance,
To him the Mother comes.