माया मरी न मन मरा, मर मर गये शरीर। आषा तृष्णा ना मरी, कह गये दास कबीर।।
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Saints, I see the world is mad. If I tell the truth they rush to beat me, if I lie they trust me.
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I’ve burned my own house down, the torch is in my hand. Now I’ll burn down the house of anyone who wants to follow me.
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Son of a slut! There: I’ve insulted you. Think about getting on the good road.
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Dropped from the belly at birth, a man puts on his costumes and goes through his acts.
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Who can I tell? And who will believe it ? When the bee touches that flower, he dies.
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There’s no creation or creator there, no gross or fine, no wind or fire, no sun, moon, earth or water, no radiant form, no time there, no word, no flesh, no faith, no cause and effect, nor any thought of the Veda. No Hari or Brahma, no Shiva or Shakti, no pilgrimage and no rituals. No mother, father or guru there…
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