Mahatma Gandhi

Friends, the frailty of exterior, the weakness of limbs – why bemoan? The soul is the conqueror of the cosmos. Whenever cruel forces of materialism struck against benign powers of Spirituality, the former crumbled and got besmeared with dust.

A skeleton (of bones), a handful of clay, whom the hard walls of stone couldn’t deter: a magic touch of his hand turned pointed bayonets into blunt weapons. Does the sun accept defeat from the dark night?

Soul: the tormented soul of the earth, of the starved and naked caravan, of the wailing helpless folk, of the widow’s mate caught up in the flames of war waged for independence. Might failed to smash that powerful soul as strong iron fails to smother a tender petal.

The warrior who leads his life in the hard terrain does not cherish to die in a comfortable slumber. He gulps the cup of death when a call comes and his proud chest faces the fierce bullets.

You are a votary of non-violence! A champion of the caravan of Love; your blood gave tint to the soil. Like oil it’d be poured into more and more lamps – illumining and showing the path, as the caravan moves on.

Darshan

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Footnote: Translation of an Urdu poem written on the occasion of the birth ceremony – 2^nd October, 1969 – of Mahatma Gandhi.