"We can forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light."
— Plato
Sant Kabir’s couplet –
अगुन किए तो बहु किए, करत न मानी हार।
भावें बंदा बख़्शे, भावें गर्दन मार॥
Transliteration –
Agun kiye to bahu kiye, karat na mani haar;
Bhāven bandā bakṣhe, bhāven gardan mār.
Translation –
One may commit countless wrongs, yet never accept defeat or admit fault.
Sometimes the human forgives — and sometimes, he cuts off your head.
My Understanding
Plato’s insight pierces much like Kabir’s — though centuries apart. Both point to the stubbornness of the human ego, and to the tragedy that unfolds when we fear self-awareness more than we fear the consequences of our actions.
Kabir’s doha is stark and unrelenting. He lays bare a truth we often soften in modern times: that wrongdoing isn’t the gravest error — unwillingness to own it is. In his rustic cadence, he reminds us that even after a thousand transgressions, it is not the sin that damns us, but the refusal to acknowledge and surrender.
And when that surrender does not come — life, or another, may choose to either forgive… or sever. In the modern world, we might not face literal execution, but there are still consequences that behead us metaphorically: reputations crumble, trust dissolves, relationships fall, and the soul becomes heavy under the weight of unrepented cycles.
In the Mirror of Today
Today, in a world of social media callouts, corporate apologies crafted by PR teams, and personal relationships bruised by pride, Kabir’s doha lands with renewed relevance. We live in a culture where mistakes are inevitable — yet what remains rare is true contrition. A sincere “I was wrong” has become harder than ever to say, and yet, more healing than ever when spoken.
This couplet is not about divine judgment or human vengeance. It is about the crossroads we all face when our faults catch up with us:
Do we cling to pride and prolong our fall?
Or do we let go — and rise through surrender?
So ask yourself:
In the face of your own failings — do you wait for the world to forgive, or do you forgive yourself through honest acceptance?
Kabir, the unlettered weaver, saw this clearly:
Sin does not break us. The refusal to see ourselves clearly does.
And until we drop that pride — we remain forever on the edge…
…between pardon and consequence.
Between grace and the blade.