In Indian mythology and literature, Maya is represented as a woman endowed with alluring beauty and lethal guile. On the material plane she represents wealth and possessions, power and prestige, and al the objects of luxury and pleasure that men long for. On the mental level she represents the lures and attractions of the world, the desires and cravings, and all those emotional bonds and attachments that keep men tied to the world. Saints say that she is the design of the negative power — the creator of the physical and astral worlds — and she acts as his accomplice in keeping souls strongly attached to this world of matter and deeply involved in its affairs.

The following poems depict the power that Maya has over all mankind. In the first poem Kabir presents her as a domineering wife, and her biddable husband is man, her abject slave. He toils day and night at various tasks, that is, he engages himself in a variety of rites and rituals in order to gain her favour — wealth and worldly possessions. Early in the morning he sweeps the courtyard — he undertakes ritual baths and ablutions every morning; he gathers cowdung and heaps it on the backyard mound — he gathers the dross of karmas, which are stored and then reaped in a later life; he eats rice left over from the previous day — in the present life he is experiencing happiness and misery according to the results of his actions in previous births. Maya says that she has such a strong hold on her 'husband' that she can take him from market to market — from one birth to another — selling him to the world and worldliness.

Kabir feels sorry for the 'husband' because he neither realizes his own state of slavery nor feels ashamed of wasting his entire life toiling to please Maya, toiling day and night to gain worldly objects, wealth, prestige and power.

O mother, my husband is compliant:
He toils at his chores morning till midnight;
He rises before the break of day
And sweeps the courtyard spick and span;
Before the first sun ray touches the ground
He's gathering cowdung in baskets
And heaping it on the backyard mound.

Mother, my husband is compliant,
He toils at his chores day and night.

With relish he eats stale rice
Left over from the previous day;
Then he picks up a large pail
And draws water from the well.

Mother, my husband is compliant,
He toils at his chores day and night.

I have made my husband my thrall,
I have tied him to my apron strings;
If I wish I can take him
From market to market
And put him on sale.
Says Kabir: This is all
The creator's game
That this woman's spouse
Has become her slave,
And in his slavery
Feels no shame.

Bijak, Basant 6
Māi mor mānusā

The second poem represents Maya as an adroit and ruthless huntress who has indiscriminately slain men, sages, hermits, anchorites and yogis. She has not spared the priests, pundits and scholars either. The hidden lure of Maya is so powerful and subtle that one cannot escape it through learning and ritual practices, yoga or worship. Men who give up everything, even their own dress, cannot escape her; nor can those escape who hide themselves in jungles and monasteries, keep themselves engaged in worship and meditation, study of Vedas and holy scriptures. They all become a prey to the formidable lure and captivating guile of Maya.

Kabir says that although Maya rules over the entire world and has enslaved everyone, she is ineffective at the door of the true lovers of the Lord — the Saints.

This crazy Maya,
A friend of the creator,
Has set out on a chase,
Keen on the scent of her prey.
One by one she picks out
The clever and the wise
And the men-about-town;
She slays them all,
She spares not one.

Maya, the huntress, is out on a chase,
Keen on the scent of her prey.

She slays the maunis, she slays the brave;
She even slays those who make
The earth and sky their dress.
She slays the yogis
Even while they're in meditation,
She slays the jungams
Who have made the jungles their home;
No one can subjugate Maya.

Maya, the huntress, is out on a chase,
Keen on the scent of her prey.

She slays the erudite
Who delve into the pages
Of Vedas and holy books;
She slays the priest
While he performs his worship;
She slays the pundit
While he expounds the scriptures.
She has tamed one and all;
She keeps them under bit and reins.

Maya, the huntress, is out on a chase,
Keen on the scent of her prey.

In the home of the sakat
She wields the scepter,
But at the doorstep
Of true devotees
She stands an abject slave.
Says Kabir: Listen, O friends,
The moment she approached me
I drove her away.

Bijak, Kahra 12
Ee māyā raghunāth kee