śrī śiva stutiḥ

Fourteen verses by Narayanacharya, son of Likuchi Suri, in a metre that rhymes internally at every half-line so the sound doubles back on itself throughout. The first is a question rather than a statement, which is unusual: clear as crystal, the matted hair split with the beauty of a necklace, crowned with a sliver of moon, the three tawny eyes wide open, wearing the fine hide of a hyena, ornamented with serpents, marked with ash — when, blue-throated one, will my sight behold that body of yours? The second turns on a piece of theology stated as an epigram: Sati bound her husband with the creeper of her own devotion, and you too, though master of yourself, are subject to your devotees.