Tell me, O Monk,
how did you renounce
the worldly things?
When you gave up your garments,
you changed into fine silk saffron ones.
When you started preaching against greed,
you occupied vast lands, and
accumulated uncountable wealth.
When you famously declared
shunning of all passions,
you began to spread hatred
among the communities of people.
And finally, you grabbed
the seat of power
in the name of the Almighty.
Kabir, the servant of people, says,
Does this son of a monster
ever relinquish his greed for the chair?
My wayfarers, if you still have any questions in mind,
see the atrocities perpetrated
by the seat he so firmly clings to.
The poem confronts religious leaders in their asceticism, firstly, of their renouncement of worldly things and then the poem reaches the punchline which was the abandonment of garments, but changing it to “fine silk saffron ones”. Secondly, when preaching against greed, the poem confronts them again of their accumulated wealth. Thirdly, the shunning of passions, while spreading hate among communities. The ending of the fourth verse accuses religious leaders who have finally grabbed power for themselves in the name of God(s).
The structure of the poem hits its points like a sledgehammer, again and again making the point clearer and clearer. The ending verse quotes Kabir, asking a rhetorical question, whether the son of a monster will ever give up their greed for the chairs/seats of power. And if people are still curious and unsure, to see the atrocities done by the seats they cling vehemently to.
The poem is a searing political poem. Written intentionally as a prophetic denunciation, like that of Amos or Kabir, it is not flowery and decorated, it is concerned with truth. It does not ask for the monks to repent, but it points at them and accuses them. It will offend the pious and vindicate the sceptic. It is unlikely to change the minds of the monks/priests but it gives a voice to the betrayed. In an era of populist movements using religion as a tool, this poem is a necessary heresy.
