kabira bigrayo Ram duhai

Think twice before you keep The bad company Of someone like me. The bitter neem that keeps The bad company Of a sandalwood tree Begins to smell like sandalwood. The piece of iron that keeps The bad company Of the philosopher’s stone Turns into gold. Waters that drain Into the Ganges Become the Ganges. And those who keep The bad company Of Rama, says Kabir, End up A bit like Rama.

kahe kabir aadha ghat bole

Except that it robs you of who you are, What can you say about speech? Inconceivable to live without And impossible to live with, Speech diminishes you. Speak with a wise man, there’ll be Much to learn; speak with a fool, All you get is prattle. Strike a half-empty pot, and it’ll make A loud sound; strike one that is full, Says Kabir, and hear the silence.

Teerath bada ki hari ka das?

Answer this and do it quickly, If you care at all for your devotee. Who’s greater? The lord of the universe Or the one who made him? The Vedas Or their source? The mind Or what the mind believes in? Rama Or Rama’s supplicant? The question that’s killing me, says Kabir, Is whether the pilgrim Or the pilgrim town is greater?

Like a sharp arrow Is the love of Rama.

Like a sharp arrow Is the love of Rama. Only someone struck by it Knows the pain. You look for the wound, But the skin is not broken. You bring out the ointment, But there’s nowhere to rub. When all women Look the same, Who among them Will the lord choose? Fortunate is she, Says Kabir, In the parting of whose hair, And hers alone, Is put vermilion.

Good company’s all I seek.

Let’s go! Everyone keeps saying, As if they knew where paradise is, But ask them what lies beyond The street they live on, They’ll give you a blank look. If paradise is where they’re heading, Paradise is not where they’ll end up. And what if the talk of paradise is just hearsay? You better check out the place yourself. As for me, says Kabir, if you’re listening, Good company’s all I seek.

The gardener’s wife

The gardener’s wife Cuts short the brief life Of the flowers and offers them To a lifeless stone idol That a sculptor carved, Feet on its chest, Chisel in hand. Had the idol been alive, It would have Lashed out at the sculptor. It would have seen through the priest Who grabs all the food The faithful bring, Leaving the scraps to the idol. Not one, not two, But everyone’s a sucker, Says Kabir. Not me.

His death in Benares

His death in Benares Won’t save the assassin From certain hell, Any more than a dip In the Ganges will send Frogs—or you—to paradise. My home, says Kabir, Is where there’s no day, no night, And no holy book in sight To squat on our lives.

Is there a paradise anyway?

Source (Verse 54)

Translation (Source)
I’m waiting for the ferry, But where are we going, And is there a paradise anyway? Besides, What will I, Who see you everywhere, Do there? I’m okay where I am, says Kabir. Spare me the trip.

a walking Mosque yourself

Source (Verse 129)

Translation (Source)
Running up minarets, Calling out to the faithful Five times a day, What’s your problem, muezzin? Can’t you see you’re a walking Mosque yourself? Your mind’s your Mecca; Your body the Ka’aba That you face when you pray; Anything you say Is an utterance from heaven. Cut the throat of desire, Not a poor goat’s, if you must. Kabir says, I’m possessed, Just don’t ask me how It happened or when. KG 129 What has here been translated as “walking mosque” is, in the original, a “mosque with ten doors,” the ten doors being the nine holes of the human body and “(in yoga) the opening at the top of the skull through which the soul is said to escape to union with the absolute, or in death” (Oxford Hindi-English Dictionary).

the four-armed god

Source (Verse 77)

Translation (Source)
Try though you may, Neither punditry Nor penance Nor telling beads will bring you To the four-armed god. At all times Keep cool. Don’t covet Another man’s wife or wealth, And wipe the bootlicker’s smile Off your face. It’s no use praying To stone idols otherwise. Keep it simple, says Kabir. It’ll get you to Rama Quicker than you know.

If parroting the name Of Rama brought salvation

Source (Verse 179)

Translation (Source)
O pundit, your hairsplitting’s So much bullshit.
I’m surprised You still get away with it.
If parroting the name Of Rama brought salvation, Then saying sugarcane Should sweeten the mouth, Saying fire burn the feet, Saying water slake thirst,
And saying food Would be as good as a belch.
If saying money made everyone rich, There’d be no beggars in the streets.
My back is turned on the world, You hear me singing of Rama and you smile.
One day, Kabir says, All bundled up, You’ll be delivered to Deathville.

To tonsured monks and dreadlocked Rastas,

Source (Verse 85)

Translation (Source)
To tonsured monks and dreadlocked Rastas,
To idol worshippers and idol smashers,
To fasting Jains and feasting Shaivites,
To Vedic pundits and Faber poets,
The weaver Kabir sends one message: The noose of death hangs over all. Only Rama’s name can save you. Say it NOW.

If going naked Brought liberation

Source (Verse 174)

Translation (Source)
If going naked Brought liberation, The deer of the forest Would attain it first.
If a shaven head Was a sign of piety, Ewes would be Pious too.
If holding back the semen Brought you closer to heaven, A steer would Lead the way.
There’s no salvation Without Rama, says Kabir. Not to know it is Really dumb.

I live in Fearlessburg

Source (Verse 170)

Translation (Source)
I’d say this Through a megaphone If I had one:
Look at these men.
Shaven heads, Great big earrings, Ash-smeared bodies,
But inside they’re empty As a house that’s been Cleaned out by thieves.
 And look at these others In the best part of town,
Who forget that when death Slips its noose round their necks To drag them through the streets It won’t be pretty.
I live in Fearlessburg, Kabir the weaver says. Its builder? Rama.

The shaven-headed men are the Nath-panthis, belonging to a religious sect of the Hatha Yoga school. Several reasons have been given for the practice of smearing the body with ashes. “They signify death to the world,...or they may indicate that the body must be reduced to ashes ultimately, or they may be a sign that the Yogi has abandoned the world” (G.W. Briggs, Gorakhnath and the Kanphata Yogis, 1938, pp. 16–17).

The body’s a pot And the mind is the cream

Source (Verse 127)

Translation (Source)
The body’s a pot And the mind is the cream
Three milkmaids are churning.
 From time to time They throw in the lord’s name.

Seeing that she’s got the butter, Seeing that the pot is smashed, The dairy-wife, Kabir says, Rejoices.

In the original, the three milkmaids are called Ila [Ida], Pingala, and Sukhman [Sushumna], which are names of the three nadis (Sanskrit for “tube” or “pipe”). In yoga, the nadis are channels for the flow of consciousness and can be stimulated through breathing techniques. Once the dairy-wife (the individual soul) has got the butter (pure consciousness, essence), the pot is of no further use to her.

Brother, The storm of wisdom has hit us

Source (Verse 52)


Translation (Source)
Brother, The storm of wisdom has hit us.
The screens of pretense are blown away, The ropes of maya have snapped.
The ridgepole of delusion is broken, The poles of two-mindedness have collapsed.
Smashing them to bits, The roof of desire has fallen On the vessels of wickedness.
After the storm, A drizzling rain, soaking me through and through.

Seeing that dawn, says Kabir, My mind lit up.

All the way to heaven

Source (Verse 81)

Translation (Source)
Listen carefully,
Neither the Vedas Nor the Qur’an Will teach you this:
Put the bit in its mouth, The saddle on its back,
Your foot in the stirrup, And ride your wild runaway mind
All the way to heaven

When greed hits you like a wave

Source (Verse 92)

Translation (Source)
When greed hits you like a wave
 You don’t need water to drown.
Whether it’s a king on his throne Or a pretty queen,
A chanting pundit Or a miracle-working yogi,
They’ll all die by drowning In a waterless sea.

Who survives? 
The ones whose minds, Kabir says, Are tied to rocks.

The mind’s a shortchanging Huckster

Source (Verse 93)

Translation (Source)
The mind’s a shortchanging Huckster with a crafty Wife and five Scoundrel children.
It won’t change its ways.
The mind’s a knot, says Kabir, Not easy to untie.

कैसें नगर करौ कुटवारी

Source (Verse 120)


कैसें नगर करौ कुटवारी
मांसु पसारि गीध रखवारी  ॥ टेक ॥ 
बैल बियाइ गाइ भई बांझ । बछरहिं दूहै तीनिउँ सांझ  ॥ १ ॥
मूसा खेवट नाव बिलइया । सोवै दादुर सर्प पहरिया ॥ २ ॥ 
नित उठि स्यार सिंघ सौं जूझै  । कहै कबीर कोई बिरला बूझै  ॥ ३॥

Translation (Source)

How do you,
Ask the chief of police,
Patrol a city
Where the butcher shops Are guarded by vultures;
Where bulls get pregnant, Cows are barren,
And calves give milk Three times a day;
Where mice are boatmen And tomcats the boats They row;
Where frogs keep snakes As watchdogs,
And jackals Go after lions?
Does anyone know What I’m talking about? Says Kabir.Translation (Source)
Hess, who has translated this poem, offers the following interpretation: The commentators have provided a meaning for nearly every word in the poem, but we shall approach it from a particular standpoint, as a statement about the problem of the mind—mana.... [The poem] states, in its oblique way, that the mind cannot solve the problem since the mind is the problem. It is like making a vulture the watchman over a meat-strewn city. It is like appointing a snake as protector of frogs. In such a town can we even talk of a sheriff to round up criminals? Who could be sheriff? Kabir shoots the question at us, following it with a rapid-fire series of impossible images, then bringing us up short, before we have had a chance to note how many times our heads have whirled, with a sudden conclusion: “Kabir says, rare listeners / hear the song right.” (The Bijak of Kabir, pp. 152–54)

है कोई गुरु ग्यांनीं जगत महिं

Source (Verse 137)
है कोई गुरु ग्यांनीं जगत महिं उलटि बेद बूभै ।
पनिआं महिं पावक जरै अँधै प्रांखिन सूझै  ॥टेक॥
गाइ नाहर खाइयौ हरिनि खायौ चीता ।
काग लंगर फांदिया बटेरै बाज जीता ॥ १ ॥
मूस तौ मंजार खायौ स्यारि खायौ स्वांनां ।
आदि कौ उदेस जांनैं तासु बीस बांनां ॥ २ ॥
एक ही दादुल खायौ पांच हूँ भुवंगा ।
कहै कबीर पुकारि कै हैं दोऊ एक संगा ॥ ३ ॥

Translation (Source)
Is there a man so clever Who’ll explain this Topsy-turvy Veda?
Water catches fire; The blind can see;
A frog swallows five cobras. A buffalo carries off a tiger;
A goat eats a wolf; A deer kills a cheetah.
A quail gets the better of a falcon; A mouse of a cat;
A jackal of a terrier.

Respectfully, With palms folded, I offer this song To the lord, says Kabir. 

एक अचम्भौ देखा रे भाई

Source (Verse 116)

एक अचम्भौ  देखा रे भाई ।
ठाढ़ा सिंघ चरावै गाई ।।  टेक ॥
पहिलै पूत पिछै भई माई । चेला कै गुर लागै पाई ॥ १ ॥
जल की मछरी तरवरि ब्याई । कूता कौं लै गई बिलाई ॥ २ ॥
बैलहिं डारि गोंनि घरि आई। घोरै चढ़ि भैस चरावन जाई॥ ३॥
तलि करि पत्ता (?) उपरि करि मूल। बहुत भांति जड़ लागे फूल ॥४॥
कहै कबीर या पद कौं बूभै । ताकौं तीनिउँ त्रिभुवन सूभै ॥ ५ ॥

Translation(Source)

Brother, I’ve seen some Astonishing sights:
A lion keeping watch Over pasturing cows;
A mother delivered After her son was;
A guru prostrated Before his disciple;
Fish spawning On treetops;
 A cat carrying away A dog;
A gunny-sack Driving a bullock-cart;
A buffalo going out to graze, Sitting on a horse;
A tree with its branches in the earth, Its roots in the sky;
A tree with flowering roots.

This verse, says Kabir, Is your key to the universe.
If you can figure it out.

मोहिं तोहिं लागी कैसै छूटै

Source (Verse 18)

मोहिं तोहिं लागी कैसै छूटै । जैसै हीरा फोरे न फूटै । टेक ।
मोहिं तोहिं आदि अंति बनि आई । अब कैसे दुरत दुराई ॥ १ ॥
जैसै कवल पत्र जल बासा । अँसै तुम साहेब हम दासा ॥ २ ॥
 मोहिं तोहिं कीट भ्रिग की नांई । जैसै सलिता सिंधु समांई ॥ ३ ॥
कहै कबीर मन लागा । जैसै सोनै मिला सुहागा ॥ ४ ॥

Translation(Source) :
Separate us? Pierce a diamond first. We’re lotus And water, Servant And master. My love for you Is no secret. I’m the grub To your ichneumon fly...

जौ पै करता बरन बिचारै

Source (Verse 182)

जौ पै करता बरन बिचारै ।। तौं जनतैं तीनि डांड़ि किन सारे । ॥ टेक ॥

जे तूं बाभन बभनीं जाया । तौ आंन बाट होइ काहे न आया ॥१॥ जे तूं तुरुक तुरुकिनीं जाया । तौ भीतरि खतनां क्यूं न कराया ॥२॥ कहै कबीर मद्धिम नहिं कोई । सो मद्धिम जा मुखि रांम न होई ॥३॥

Translation (Source)

Were the Creator Concerned about caste, We’d arrive in the world With a caste mark on the forehead.

If you say you’re a Brahmin Born of a mother who’s a Brahmin, Was there a special canal Through which you were born?

And if you say you’re a Turk And your mother’s a Turk, Why weren’t you circumcised Before birth?

Nobody’s lower-caste; The lower castes are everywhere. They’re the ones Who don’t have Rama on their lips, Kabir says.