Who trusts in Mahomet, who - in Buddha, who - in Jesus And who in spite of all believes in naught, including hell. A very nice religion was invented by old Hindus. We don’t die forever when the spirit leaves the shell. Up there aimed the soul of thine, You would be born with dream again. But if you lived so like a swine, In shape of pig you would remain. Let people awry gaze at you. Get used to the reproach. It vexes. Wait. You will be born again sharp needle-like. But if you saw your foe’s death when yours had not approached, In new life you’d be gifted by a true and eagle eye. You are to live without grief. You have a reason to be glad, Because it may hap, into chief Your soul will reincarnate.
As yardman let you now live, in new life you’ll be foreman. And after from a foreman up to minister you’ll grow. But if you are dull like log, same would be your transforming. And you will be a baobab till thousand years flow. To be a parrot frets and fumes. An adder’s long lifetime annoys. Is not it much better for you To spend your life as decent boy? But who is who and who was what we fail to find out. Geneticists are driven mad by genes and chromosomes. It may be that this pleasant man was in the past good hound. But one who was a vagabond is now a shabby tom. I in delight hop full of glee. I pass over temptations. A very comfortable creed Was built by Hindu nation.
© Eugeny Koshelev. Translation, 2007