Shiva

Skin so white, an ashen hue,
So strange, with a neck of blue.

A snake coils and dances about his shoulders and waist,
Always to take it slow, never to haste.

A crescent moon,
A demeanor so mild,
Wisdom and grace,
Even in the form of a tearful child.

But of his meditation, his trance,
Comes forth the origin of the drum, the song, the dance.

To be the anchor he is content,
For to be loved by his Kali is complement.

Atop the brahma,
Atop the mighty tiger skin,
Always to think.
Always to win.

Born of everything,
Married to that of darkness, time and everything, (Kali)
To see all with the third eye,
Prayer in ashes,
Never to die.

A true light,
The god of creation, change, and destruction