With this poem, I am once again accepting Robert Bly's exercise of poetic license in giving this poem a title. It is Chapter V of the book Songs of Kabir, (free on Kindle; get it now, I'll wait) published in 1915.
There are a couple of technical terms in this poem. "Maya" is a term in Indian religions, frequently translated as "illusion," centered on the fact that we do not experience the environment itself but a projection of it, created by us. We don't see things as they are, we see things as we are.
And the Sadhu whom Kabir addresses at the end of the poem is not someone's name, but rather a title for an ascetic, wandering monk, who is seeking the very thing Kabir is pondering in this poem.
Tell me, Brother, how can I renounce Maya?
When I gave up the tying of ribbons, still I tied my garment about me:
When I give up tying my garment, still I covered my body in its folds.
So, when I give up passion, I find that anger remains;
And when I renounce anger, greed is with me still;
And when greed is vanquished, pride and vainglory remain;
When the mind is detached and casts Maya away, it still clings to the letter.
Kabir says "Listen to me, dear Sadhu! the true path is rarely found."
When I give up tying my garment, still I covered my body in its folds.
So, when I give up passion, I find that anger remains;
And when I renounce anger, greed is with me still;
And when greed is vanquished, pride and vainglory remain;
When the mind is detached and casts Maya away, it still clings to the letter.
Kabir says "Listen to me, dear Sadhu! the true path is rarely found."
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