This bullet in my body doesn’t prevent me to speak
about peace and our wise goddess Saravouati,
and the bitter salt of the ocean of cyclones.
If your soul wins, the whole world wins as well.
So, don’t fall. Resist to temptations of lewd Laksmi,
count the arrows of Artzoun, the wrath of Rahoo,
sow with Atarveit to reap and nourish the children,
throw your last kernel to the greedy, to humiliate him.
The stains of my blood are leaves that draw an ivy.
Look up to the floor; it applies the order of family,
it pricks on the wall a design with the nation’s law,
it covers the roof with the Law of a perfect universe:
I’m the left hand of my neighbour, when spins thread;
he is my left hand too, when I cultivate my cotton.
The bullet in my body doesn’t prevent me to avow:
I die for the truth so that I'll be born again as freedom.
We are affluent rivers joining with the single River,
God defined no borders to have it divided for us all.
The bullet penetrates my body as a seed, I grow anew.
Great Soul, means to render holy the bullet inside you,
as Jesus renders holy his crucifix, Homer his blindness.
India is single, God is unique with many names.
So, let us mount with the loom and the cow.
Tyrants who invade my country have no salvation,
since eventually the winner is Love, reminding
Prometheus, a fire-carrier with a riddled body.
© JosephJosephides
Joseph S. Josephides
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/great-soul-mahatma-gandhi/