The red slayer thinks he slays,
Or if the slain thinks he's slain,
They know not well the subtle ways
I keep and pass and turn again.
Far or forgot to me is near;
Shadows and sunlight are the same;
Vanished gods to me appear;
And one to me are shame and fame.
They reckon ill who leave me out;
When me they fly,i am the wing,
I am the doubter and the doubt;
And i am the hymn the brahmin sing.
~Ralph Waldo Emersion.
[This message was edited by ABHAY on Friday May 2nd, 2003 at 12:13 AM.]