Some believe in Mahomet, some in Allah, some in Christ.
Some don’t believe in anything, even hell to spite us all.
But the Hindus have an answer, a religious code that’s nice -
That when we kick the bucket, we really don’t die at all.

If your soul strives and you aim high,
You’ll be born with a dream once more,
But if you lived like a pig in a sty
Then like a pig you’ll stay as before.

Let them give you strange looks: get used to their disdain.
It’s annoying but when you’re born again you can taunt them back.
And if death seemed your enemy in this life of pain,
In the next you’ll find all the faith and insight that you lack.

So keep on with your normal life.
Be happy: ignore your loss:
For it may happen all your strife
Will vanish when you’re the boss!

 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 

So what if you’re labourer, you’ll be born the factory head,
And then from factory head you’ll be a head of state.
But if you’re dumb like a tree, you’ll be a baobab instead
And for death a baobab tree has a thousand years to wait.

Yes, it’s a shame to be a parrot,
Or a viper whose life extends...
Living well now has its merits
If you’re a good human in the end.

. . .
. . .
Maybe that scraggy cat in a past life was an evil murderess
And this sweet girl here was surely once a gentle dog at home.

I am bursting out with delight.
I’ve escaped being a novice.
The Hindus have shown the light
With their great religious service.