Thinking him a man, I stretched out
My right hand towards him.
No sooner had I kept my hand on his
Than it got wet with a horrid smell.
I washed my hand many times with ashes
And with sweet-smelling soaps.
I went bathing many times in the rivers
And in all the oceans.
Even I bathed my whole body
With sacredness, hatred and love.
Yet from my right hand and from my whole body
That horrid smell did not vanish anyway.
Now I brood over that hand; Alas! Was it
The hand of a fox scratching corpses?
Or was it the hand of a vulture or of a hyena?
