Go east to India, the land of charm
Where men with snakes twisted around their
breast
These snakes never bite, nor cause any harm
Like those immured within the human chest.
Gandhi, the great philosopher, once said,
“We Indians are born patient and calm,
We worship our God and we seek our bread
For we read the page of life in our palm.
“We fall heads down tied to our destiny
And we grow up with fate to fall again
Naked on the trails of humanity
Caravans of magic within the chain.
“No remains but the links around
Of image to image in memory
A view of marble and firs on the ground
And shadows looming gyved each to a tree.
“There the future will be the steaming past
And we follow along the thread of years
Unloading fast where the billions are massed
To rise and meet the day of smiles and tears.
“That’s why we look the hand of might to see
The veins streams of light glowing in the sky
A rainbow with colors of piety
A signal of truth for those who deny.”
Gandhi died and burned, his ashes gathered
And thrown into the river fast to flow
Partly clung at the edges and were mothered
To grow well into reeds, long, long ago
Since they are cut by men, pen, and bassoon
The pen writing Gandhi’s philosophy
The bassoon blown sounding the beats in tune
Of his heart surging in waves at the sea.
He, a phoenix revived by fire and pen
To live ever read in stories to right
The wax of temper in the hearts of men
The cause of hate, the foolish use of might.
Salaam on earth he preached and still preaching
By the repeated rhythm of the reeds blown
By the pen that has writ and still teaching
How to water the seeds of love where grown.