Kabir’s verses, preserved in Hindi and related vernaculars, return again and again to the mystery of the self and the Divine. In one celebrated couplet he says, “जब मैं था तब हरि नहीं, अब हरि हैं मैं नाहि। सब अँधियारा मिट गया, दीपक देखा माहि,” expressing the insight that when the ego dominates, the Divine is obscured, but when the Divine is realized, the ego dissolves and inner darkness is dispelled. Closely related is his reminder that the Lord is not far away: “मोको कहाँ ढूँढे रे बंदे, मैं तो तेरे पास में। न मैं देवल, न मैं मस्जिद, न काबे कैलास में,” which rejects the notion that God is confined to any single religious structure or sacred geography. These lines together convey a radical interiorization of the sacred, urging the seeker to turn within rather than wander outward in restless search.

Another strong current in Kabir’s sayings is his critique of empty learning and ritual without love. He declares, “पोथी पढ़ि पढ़ि जग मुआ, पंडित भया न कोय। ढाई आखर प्रेम का, पढ़े सो पंडित होय,” asserting that true wisdom lies not in volumes of scripture but in the simple, transformative reality of love. In a similar spirit he observes human forgetfulness of the Divine in times of ease: “दुख में सुमिरन सब करें, सुख में करें न कोय। जो सुख में सुमिरन करें, तो दुख काहे को होय,” pointing out that remembrance only in suffering misses the deeper stability of a heart that remembers in joy as well. These teachings challenge the seeker to move beyond mere intellectualism or crisis-driven devotion toward a steady, loving awareness.

Kabir also turns a sharp, compassionate gaze on the human tendency to judge others while ignoring one’s own inner work. His famous doha, “बुरा जो देखन मैं चला, बुरा न मिलिया कोय। जो दिल खोजा आपना, मुझसे बुरा न कोय,” reveals that the real battlefield lies within, where one discovers one’s own faults to be the most pressing. This introspective realism is echoed in his image of the grinding mill: “चलती चाकी देख के, दिया कबीरा रोय। दो पाटन के बीच में, साबुत बचा न कोय,” a poignant reminder of the forces of life that spare nothing intact. Such images invite a humility that is not defeatist but clarifying, encouraging the seeker to recognize vulnerability and impermanence.

His verses on daily life and sufficiency show a balanced, almost austere practicality. In the prayer, “साँई इतना दीजिए, जा में कुटुम समाय। मैं भी भूखा न रहूँ, साधु न भूखा जाय,” Kabir asks not for abundance but for “just enough” so that neither the household nor the visiting saint goes hungry. The dialogue between clay and potter, “माटी कहे कुम्हार से, तू क्या रोंदे मोय। इक दिन ऐसा आएगा, मैं रोंदूँगी तोय,” reverses roles to remind both artisan and listener that power and status are fleeting. These sayings hold together social awareness, ethical restraint, and a deep sense of mortality.

Finally, Kabir’s imagery of the Divine presence is both simple and profound. In the line, “कस्तूरी कुंडल बसे, मृग ढूँढे वन माहि। ऐसे घटी-घटी राम हैं, दुनिया देखे नाहि,” the deer’s search for musk outside itself becomes a metaphor for the human search for God in distant places while the Divine pervades every heart. This vision harmonizes with his other declarations that the Lord’s “sahibi” pervades all beings, and that in some hearts desire burns away while in others it grows. Taken together, these sayings form a tapestry in which inwardness, love, humility, and sufficiency are not separate themes but facets of a single, uncompromising spiritual insight.