A Space where silence speaks, and sorrow sings.
Sureeli Thoughts. Harmonic Ideas.
Where rhythm meets reason, and words find their way home.
This page is home to the poetry and music of Kabir Sarang — expressions rooted in the emotions, questions, and struggles that many of us share. Here you’ll find poems that speak softly, and sometimes boldly — about truth, justice, love, loss, memory, and what it means to remain human in difficult times.
At Indus Radar, we don’t create just to be seen — we create to be felt, understood, and remembered. Every word, verse, and voice is shaped to reflect, to feel, and to inspire meaningful action.
These are not just verses. They are voices — old and new — reminding us we are not alone.
This is Where We Said: Ab Nahi
Our first release — a refusal wrapped in rhythm.
This was the first time we took a quiet thought and turned it into a public sound.
Kehna Hai Ab Nahi is not just a song — it’s a refusal. A refusal to remain silent. A refusal to forget. It speaks for those who can’t, and it begins our journey into poetic resistance.
🎧 Listen; React, Share.
This will always be our first answer to silence. More voices, more music, more truth — still to come.
Poetic Companions – A shared Language of resistance and Love
The poetry that breathes through Indus Radar isn’t just inherited — it’s engraved. In the echoes of verses, in the pauses between lines, I found the voices that dared to speak when others stayed silent.
Faiz Ahmed Faiz — whose every stanza walked the line between revolution and romance, teaching me that beauty could still bloom in chains.
Sahir Ludhianvi — the poet who tore through illusions of love and patriotism with fearless clarity. His words never flinched, even when the world did.
Habib Jalib — a voice like a drumbeat in the dark, reminding us that truth spoken loudly is its own kind of freedom.
Bulhe Shah — whose rebellious love for the divine blurred all borders of identity, religion, and form. He danced with the eternal and made me want to follow.
Sultan Bahoo — the mystic whose silence carried louder truths than sermons. His words dissolved the self and awakened something raw, ancient, and endless.
Ahmed Nadeem Qasmi — a quiet observer, who wrapped entire lifetimes inside the folds of a simple phrase.
Mohsin Naqvi — the poet of blood and longing. His grief wore velvet but carried fire underneath.
Nasir Kazmi — who whispered nostalgia into the ears of time, reminding me that memory is both balm and burden.
Jaun Elia — madness wrapped in elegance. He tore at the edges of language and self until both bled truth.
Iftikhar Arif — regal and reflective, his poetry felt like a slow walk through centuries of wisdom.
Amjad Islam Amjad — whose voice moved between the personal and political like water flowing through stone.
Javed Akhtar and Gulzar — dreamsmiths of cinema and soul, each word from them felt like a mirror turned gently toward our hearts.
Josh Malihabadi — the roaring thunder. If poetry is a weapon, his verses were forged in revolt.
These poets are not just names I admire. They are maps. Torches. Wounds. Medicines. They taught me that to feel deeply is to live bravely — and that the pen can be sharper than any sword when guided by love, resistance, or remembrance.
These poets carry the flames of passion, defiance, introspection, and longing.
Their verses are not distant memories. They are living echoes — full of rebellion, beauty, pain, and purpose.
Just a few more days, my love — only a few more
We breathe beneath the shadows of cruelty, resigned.
Let us bear this torment a little longer
Cry, tremble, bleed — if we must.
It is the burden we’ve inherited
A chain forged by the silence of our forefathers
In the scorched ruins of time’s vast wilderness
We must remain — but not like this, not forever
The nameless weight of alien hands
Must be endured today — but not always
Faiz Ahmed Faiz
چند روز اور مری جان! فقط چند ہی روز
ظلم کی چھاوٗں میں دم لینے پہ مجبور ہیں ہم
اور کچھ دیر ستم سہہ لیں، تڑپ لیں، رو لیں
اپنے اجداد کی میراث ہے، معذور ہیں ہم
عرصہٰ دہر کی جھلسی ہوئی ویرانی میں
ہم کو رہنا ہے، یوں ہی تو نہیں رہنا ہے
اجنبی ہاتھوں کا بے نام گراں بار ستم
آج سہنا ہے، ہمیشہ تو نہیں سہنا ہے
فیض احمد فیض
My Musical Compass – Voices That Formed Me
The music behind Indus Radar doesn’t come from playlists — it comes from voices that stayed with me, shaped me, and sometimes found me before I even knew I was listening.
These weren’t just artists. They were moments. Their voices helped me make sense of my own.
Ataullah Esa Khelwi, the first voice that touched something unnamed in childhood.
Abida Parveen, whose renditions of Bulhe Shah and Sultan Bahoo turned silence into fire.
Nayyara Noor, who sang poetry like candlelight — gentle, steady, and full of meaning.
Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, whose qawwalis made love feel eternal.
Jagjit Singh, whose ghazals sat with grief and stayed until it softened.
Shaukat Ali, the voice of Punjab’s soul — who gave folk songs a timeless roar.
Lata Mangeshkar, Mohammad Rafi, Mukesh, Kishore Kumar — timeless threads in the fabric of feeling.
And then came Gurdas Maan — not just a singer, but a lifelong teacher from afar.
Challa, Mitti, Roti, Boot Polishan, Ki Banu Duniya Da — his music held pride, poverty, love, protest, and home in a single breath. He reminded me that language could walk, and songs could carry history.
In recent years, Kanwar Grewal, Dr. Satinder Sartaj, and Malkoo reminded me that mysticism and street rhythm still live.
They don’t just sing — they provoke, pulse, and wake us up. “The journey of music is not just sound — it is feeling.”
Looking Ahead
In time, we hope to bring in more voices — poets, singers, and songwriters who carry the pulse of the present and the spirit of the past. Indus Radar remains open to songs that matter, poems that resist forgetting, and music that dares to heal.
🎧 Listen. Absorb. React.
Explore our growing archive of poetry and music — original works, live reflections, and timeless inspiration.
🎵 Listen to the First Song✍️ Submit a Poem or Suggestion