I have been acquainted with Kabir’s poetry ever since I was a child. The acquaintance was not voluntary; like many of my classmates, I too was forced to memorise Kabir’s verses without comprehending them or having had their meaning explained to me. And even to this day, despite being a speaker of vernacular Hindi, I find the verses outwardly simple and straightforward, and yet hard to fully grasp—

Bura jo dekhan main chala, bura naa milya koye
Jo mann khoja apnaa, to mujhse bura naa koye
 
[I searched for the crooked man, met not a single one
Then searched myself, "I" found the crooked one]
 

The enigma lies in Kabir’s words, which if understood, always put one in a conundrum. They force introspection, humility, and self-reflection. Kabir was often called ‘Sant’ (saint) Kabir, a prefix I never understood, as it was always contrary to the preachings of contemporary saints with millions in attendance. His poetry, even that addressed to saints, would often advise looking beyond the bounds of religion and dogma. They questioned my conditioning with simple satire and irony, challenging societal norms and religious dogma—

Saadho, dekho jag bauraanaà
Saanchii kahau to maaran dhaavai, jhunthe jag patiyaana
 
Hindu kahat hai raam hamaara, musalmaan rahmaana
Aapas mein dou lade, martu hain maram koii nahin jaana
 

(The whole world has gone mad. Truth is met with intolerance, even violence, but lies are welcomed with arms wide open. On one hand, Hindus chant the name of Ram, and  Muslims chant the name of Rahman. Both fight and die over this, yet neither is acquainted with the truth.)

Kabir wrote in a blend of local dialects and vernacular tongues  such as Bhojpuri, Awadhi, and Braj, unlike other mystics who often wrote in Sanskrit or other more “academic” languages. This choice made his poetry accessible to common people, not just saints, scholars, and the elite. Kabir’s verses have stood the test of time as they were often sung as dohas (couplets) or pad (songs), allowing them to spread orally across generations. They reject religious orthodoxy, criticised idol worship, empty rituals, blind faith, and even institutions such as caste—

Santat jat na pucho nirguniyan 
Saadh bhapan saap chattari saadho jati baniyan
 
Saadhan maa chattis qaum hai, tedhi tor puchaniya 
Saadho naau saadhe dhobi saadh jati hai bariyan
 
Saadhan maa Raidas sant hai, Supach rishi so bhangiyan
Hindu-Turk doi deen bane hai, kachu nahin pahchaniyan 
 
[It is needless to ask of a saint the caste to which he belongs,
For the priest, the warrior, the tradesman, 
And all the thirty-six castes alike are seeking for God.
 
It is but folly to ask what the caste of a saint may be,
The barber has sought God, the washerwoman, and the carpenter —
Even Raidas was a seeker after God.
 
The Rishi Swapacha was a tanner by caste.
Hindus and Moslems alike have
achieved that End, where remains no mark of distinction.]
 

(Translated by Rabindranath Tagore)
 

His wonderful verses feature spontaneous expressions of his vision and love, and it is by these, not by the didactic teachings associated with his name, that he makes his immortal appeal to the heart. In his poems, a wide range of mystical emotion is brought into play: from the loftiest abstractions to the most intimate and personal realisation of God and self—

If you know you're alive, find the essence of life
Life is the sort of guest, you don't meet twice
 

(Translated by Linda Hess and Shukdeo Singh)
 

Centuries after his death, Kabir’s poetry remains strikingly relevant today. In a world still divided by religion, class, and ideology, his call for unity, love, and inner truth feels urgent. His verses remind us to question, to seek meaning beyond appearances, and most importantly, to love.
 

Kabir’s poetry is not meant to be merely read; it is meant to be experienced. In listening to Kabir, we are invited to look inward, shed false identities, and rediscover what it truly means to be human. Kabir believed wisdom comes from within and should be lived and shared, not locked away in scriptures. His voice, fearless and compassionate, continues to echo across time, reminding us that truth needs no label, and love needs no boundaries—
 

Pothi padh padh jag mua, pandit bhaya na koye
Dhai akhar prem ka, padhe so pandit hoye
 
[Reading books, the whole world died, yet none became wise
One who understands the two-and-a-half letters of love is the true scholar]