Tukaram, Poem 1100

The man who reflects not is like an ass; he carries his knowledge like a log of wood. He loves disputation; he loves filth, and leaves the high roads for it. Possessed though he be of wealth, honour or age, he does but scatter the filth that clings to his feet. Birth or family will not redeem a cut-throat. Tuka says, Why do you vainly carry the marks of religion stamped upon you?