Kalki: Arise, O White Horse Rider

In the age of shadows, where dharma falters,

And the wheel of time groans under its weight,

A cry emerges, ancient yet new,

The promise of restoration whispered in the winds.

Born of Vishnu’s essence,

In the quiet village of Shambhala,

Where the sacred and the profane intersect,

You take your first breath as Kalki, the redeemer.

The earth trembles at your birth,

Not in fear, but in anticipation.

The heavens hold their breath,

Witnessing the final avatar descend.

Kali Yuga stretches its darkened arms,

A world awash in greed and sorrow,

Where truth is fragile,

And falsehood wears a gilded crown.

But the cosmic dance is eternal,

Destruction walks hand in hand with renewal.

You rise, O Kalki,

To wield the flame of justice.

Upon the white steed, you soar,

A celestial storm in mortal form.

Your sword, a fragment of divine will,

Cuts through illusion and despair alike.

The devas sing your name in unseen realms,

And mortals, weary of their suffering,

Lift their gaze to the skies,

Yearning for the dawn of truth.

The wars will cease,

The rivers will cleanse their polluted veins.

You will break the chains of maya,

Revealing what has been lost to time.

The serpent coils tighter,

The wheel threatens to halt.

Yet your stride does not falter,

You march to herald the Satya Yuga.

The age of purity will rise again,

Not as a gift, but a birthright reclaimed.

And in the stillness after the storm,

The world will breathe its first unbroken breath.

Kalki, you are the end and the beginning,

The eternal promise fulfilled.

Through your path, the cosmos is made whole,

And dharma shines, steady as the northern star.