Om nyam Shiva, Lord of the Burning Fields!
Dance, Natanaja, and never, never yield.
The moon is your crown, a tiger your bed,
cobras your necklace, o'Lord of the Dead.

Yours the mastery over pain, over fear -
unflinching, undaunted, and never a tear.
Eye of the maelstrom, silent and still.
Grant me stability, temper my will.

From high on your mountain, You can see all -
each heart that breaks, each sparrow that falls.
See through my darkness, grant my Thy sight,
and the strength to withstand it, turn woe to delight.

No torment can sway Thee, no barrier withstand,
the might of Thy will, the touch of Thy hand.
I pray for Your strength, Thy indominable will -
my people to guard, Thy will to fulfill.

Thy third eye a beacon, my soul hears Your call.
Untutored, untamed, I offer my all.
Temper my soul, that your tool I may be.
Om nyam Shiva, my offering is me.