Best Kabir Poems
What are mental aberrations when in a deep state of meditation by focusing on rejecting all thoughts and senses, and allowing the body to exist autonomously?
To call them visions is to purely describe the minimalistic tangible visual evidence of the experience without regard to meaning and other sensual possibilities. In Genesis 40 of the Bible, Joseph was able to extract meaning from the visions of the baker and cupbearer while they share the same prison. The two men were unable to understand, as they were passively experiencing the visions.
However, to be your own Joseph would require an active experience of these visions. Is this possible? It is if you are actively receiving while in a state of nothingness.
All conflicts must be removed, including the anticipation and understanding of the origin of such experiences. Only when you profoundly receive clarity of understanding may you know their origin. Is the experience from God, Satan, you, someone, or something?
Theologists call this activity being in a state of prayer, or is it? What would you call it?
Now that you are on the Path of Kabir, what truths will you find?
Where spring, the lord of seasons reigneth, there the unstruck music sounds of itself,
There the streams of light flow in all directions, few are the men who can cross to that shore!
There, where millions of Krishnas stand with hands folded,
Where millions of Vishnus bow their heads, where millions of Brahmas are reading the Vedas,
Where millions of Shivas are lost in contemplation, where millions of Indras dwell in the sky,
Where the demi-gods and the munis are unnumbered, where millions of Saraswatis, goddess of music play the vina,
There is my Lord self-revealed, and the scent of sandal and flowers dwells in those deeps.
—?Kabir, II.57, Translated by Rabindranath Tagore
by,
Martin Braun
3/17/2020
In divine school there is a boy who does blare
The horn of indiscipline all over the school bare
Met me very day when I furiously did glare;
Felt though sad and bad, moved a bit with prayer
I intended to sing for him to change without spare.
Kabir is that boy who was found on hostel stair -
Roaming and singing and running like a hare.
Moved by ‘No one is lift behind’ by me. “Beware!
You have to be careful.” I used to say at square.
Now is the time, when he has changed a lot by flair
Which he had in him – half known to him I swear.
Then was the naughty boy, one of the corsair –
Now is the sincere and calm though no so clever.
I know that in future he will be a successful bear
Who may forget me but I will never to such mare.
Now that you are on the Path of Kabir, what truths will you find?
Where spring, the lord of seasons reigneth, there the unstruck music sounds of itself,
There the streams of light flow in all directions, few are the men who can cross to that shore!
There, where millions of Krishnas stand with hands folded,
Where millions of Vishnus bow their heads, where millions of Brahmas are reading the Vedas,
Where millions of Shivas are lost in contemplation, where millions of Indras dwell in the sky,
Where the demi-gods and the munis are unnumbered, where millions of Saraswatis, goddess of music play the vina,
There is my Lord self-revealed, and the scent of sandal and flowers dwells in those deeps.
—?Kabir, II.57, Translated by Rabindranath Tagore
We study our language when we are just born.
First, we touch and hear, taste and smell, and then we see.
We put a name on it. And we repeat it back by sound, motion, and symbols.
Some words we cannot really translate, like the words in the greeting "Hummel, Hummel; Mors, Mors." The people of Hamburg, Germany might be able to explain it, but it would be difficult. In short, "mors" generally means in English "kiss my butt."
But what if it was more profound, take philosophy and theology? Not many in the "west" understand Hinduism. There are words like "zen" and the teachings of Kabir, that describes ideas foreign to the "west."
Unless we look beyond our language, we will be prisoners to it.
by,
Martin Braun
3/17/2020
When he was a young boy in India Kabir loved to read neath his favorite tree…
only pausing to watch the clouds…
some times he’d read in silence…other times…aloud.
One day while reading he noticed…out of the corner of his eye
a young elephant, about his age, innocently strolling by.
As Kabir began to read aloud the young elephant’s ears perked up in surprise….
and when he gently sat down next to him…he looked into Kabir’s eyes.
“Please read on.” The elephant said. “I want to hear how this story ends.
(This is the day they shall long remember when the two became best friends.)
One day as they sat reading together…their feet dangling in the brook…
Kabir announced, “I shall call you Max…after our favorite character in our favorite book!”
“Max is perfect.” The elephant smiled proudly rising to his feet…
“and it is under this very tree where we wild things shall meet.”
And for many years Kabir and Max would read together
sometime they laughed…sometimes they cried
beneath their favorite tree…sitting side by side.
But little boys and little elephants grow up…time can indeed be fleeting
and with families of their own…the wild things stopped meeting.
But one day as the two friends walked together…up ahead…
what did their old eyes see…
Kabir’s son reading to Max’s son…underneath their favorite tree.
Max and Kabir smiled at one another…remembering back to an earlier day….
“And I shall call you Max.” They heard behind them…
as the two old friends walked away.
Quite by chance
I find you in the tiniest house of time.
I had been seeking you in the church,
the temple, and the chanting kirtans.
I sought you in sex,
almost for a moment found you there
but that house burnt down
each time I entered it.
All the while, I not knowing,
not understanding
the nature of closeness.
The mind is so flooded
with the love of God
that it cannot behold that which is part of it.
Find the smallest room of time,
discover there
that which has always been you.
K-een
A-uthor
B-rilliantly
I-nspires
R-eaders
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
Unsatiable an ode to my harmony
quenching mundane in simplicity
light and shadow overshadowing forecasters to me
lighthearted, unmindful, a gentle breeze in subtlety
Daylong awaits I long alone lingering only for a chime
Whence omniscience harbinger of altruism
reasons to be
pristine in me
until then pulcher bits and beauty flying over the mundane me
yonder to ponder a journey due for the impeccable time in glum and glee
A splendor, a dew, a timelessness early droplet, an everlasting cosmology
in my patsy to see, to be, to sing in harmony!
Composition : 1912
Place : Shilaidaha