In the stillest hour of the night
as I lay half asleep
my seven selves sat together and thus conversed in whisper
Here, in this madman, I have dwelt all these years
with naught to do but renew his pain by day
 
and recreate his sorrow by night.
I can bear my fate no longer, and now I rebel.
Yours is a better lot than mine, brother
for it is given to me to be this madman’s joyous self.
I laugh his laughter
and sing his happy hours
and with thrice winged feet I dance his brighter thoughts.
It is I that would rebel against my weary existence.
And what of me, the love-ridden self
the flaming brand of wild passion and fantastic desires?
It is I, the love-sick self
who would rebel against this madman.
I, amongst you all
am the most miserable
for naught was given me but odious hatred and destructive loathing.
It is I, the tempest-like self
the one born in the black caves of Hell
who would protest against serving this madman.
Nay, it is I, the thinking self, the fanciful self
the self of hunger and thirst
the one doomed to wander without rest in search of unknown things
and things not yet created.
It is I, not you, who would rebel.
And I, the working self
the pitiful labourer, who, with patient hands, and longing eyes
fashion the days into images
and give the formless elements new and eternal forms
it is I, the solitary one
who would rebel against this restless madman.
How strange that you all would rebel against this man
because each and every one of you has a preordained fate to fulfil.
Ah! could I be like one of you
a self with a determined lot
But I have none
I am the do-nothing self
the one who sits in the dumb, empty nowhere and nowhen
while you are busy re-creating life.
Is it you or I, neighbours, who should rebel?
When the seventh self spoke
the other selves looked with pity upon him
but said nothing more
and as the night grew deeper
one after the other went to sleep
enfolded with a new and happy submission.
But the seventh self remained
watching and gazing at nothingness
which is behind all things.
