Each man to his own man and brother.
Few Gods to each loving one.
One to the mother who but loved her dear son -
Found the entire creation in him,
gobbled up like candied fun.
Few to the hunter-gatherer who kills, feeds flesh and
fruit to the delight of the brahmin's vegetarian God,
To the children not on their best behaviour
Make sparkling mischief religiously,
The lovers lost in an eternity of each other
forgetting the divine soft moonlight.
To the one out there seeking in the wilderness,
Already wise like the wild.
To all of us onwards on to that one heaven of oblivion
Preserved carefully in our mouths and instruments,
By infinite worshiping hands.
Each mouth instrument hand a God in the crowd.
The Gods upstairs bow to each blessed one.
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