శ్రీ మీనాక్షీ స్తోత్రమ్

O Śrīvidyā, dwelling on Śiva’s left; worshipped by the emperor of emperors; whose majesty is the very form of the line of teachers beginning with Śrīnātha; seated upon the wish-granting gem; whose lotus feet Vāṇī and Girijā adore; O Śāmbhavī, O Śivā, daughter of the Malayadhvaja king — protect me, O Mother Mīnākṣī.

O you who abide in the cakra, unwavering; Mistress of the moving and unmoving world, worshipped by all; giver of boons to the afflicted, your hand granting fearlessness to those who bow; O Knowledge, known to the crown of the Vedas, whose form is a streak of lightning; O Mother, whose heart is moist with the full nectar of grace — protect me, O Mother Mīnākṣī.

O you who wear diadem, armlets and jewelled earrings, honoured with bow and arrow; adorned with a long hanging garland; whose lotus feet are graced with jewelled sandals and tinkling anklets; O Garuḍa to the serpent of my poverty — protect me, O Mother Mīnākṣī.

O you whose deeds Brahmā, Īśa and Acyuta sing; seated upon the couch; holding noose, goad, bow and arrow; adorned with the crescent moon; O youthful one, your eyes restless as a young fawn’s, blazing like a million dawning suns; O deity worshipped with the sacred gestures, daughter of the sage — protect me, O Mother Mīnākṣī.

O you praised by gandharvas, gods, yakṣas and serpents; embraced by the bearer of Gaṅgā; O Gāyatrī, seated upon Garuḍa, born of the lotus, beautifully dark, firmly established; beyond the void, a flame to the wood of the wicked, blazing like a million fireflies; O deity worshipped with mantras, daughter of the sage — protect me, O Mother Mīnākṣī.

O Sound, praised by Nārada, Tumburu and the rest; whose nature is the sound beyond all sound; O Eternal, whose form is the dark creeper, without compare, subtle as the tip of a grain of rice; O Beloved, O art of desire, dwelling in the kadamba grove, seated upon Kāmeśvara’s lap; O my learning, O wish-granting creeper of all I desire — protect me, O Mother Mīnākṣī.

O you whose eyes half close at the sound of the vīṇā; whose braid has come loose; whose lips are red as tender leaves with betel; adorned with earrings and necklaces; O dark one, crowned with the crescent moon, your brow marked with musk; O full one, whose face is lovely with the moon’s full digits — protect me, O Mother Mīnākṣī.

O you who are the Brahman of sound; who are all that moves and does not move; who are light, who are speech; who are unending bliss, who are the stainless, who are Reality itself, who are pure consciousness; who are beyond Reality, higher than the highest, who are māyā, who are Śrī; who are all sovereignty, who are Sadāśiva — protect me, O Mother Mīnākṣī.