The morning breeze has whispered to me a secret,
That those who know their Selfhood, are equal to kings.
Selfhood is the essence of thy life and honour,
Thou shalt rule with it, but without it be in disgrace.
Thou hast not led my way, O man of wisdom!
But why, complain? Thou knowest not the way.
Thy monastic cult is a strait and narrow path,
Which I like not, but thy freedom I respect.
This world of inferior prey is meant to sharpen thy claws,
Thou art an eagle—hunter, but art a novice yet.
Whether thou art in the East or West, thy faith
Is meaningless, unless thy heart affirms it.