O Shiva, how we long for your ecstatic dance;
how we long for the end of our mayavic trance!
All the world rotting and little but a high stench;
when will the Master his fragrant grace relinquish?
All the ice melting drop by drop, but our thirst
increases more and more like some biblical curse.
This is the end of days, when man becomes a beast
and slays the child to provide for anger a raw feast.
If only greed were a burnt offering to fatten fire
to celebrate the rhapsodic death of brute desire!
Dance Shiva your fiery dance that ignites the heart
and burns from the mind the filth that keeps us apart.
Darvish longs for the Master’s sweet rhythmic embrace
as they dance in the inferno of the Master’s grace.
