nonviolence
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Footprints on the sands of time
glow with birthmark
each glittering step
unshaken and challenging
not by yielding to temptation
but thirst for truth
for the awakening of men
for soul-searching
Copyright © by Nikhil Parekh
Copyright © by Nikhil Parekh
I walked into the classroom.
I wrote my name on the board:
"Mr. Broom"
A little girl stared at my shirt.
I saw she had a black eye.
I wondered how she got hurt.
Trotting through the hot narrow alley, rifle on my back.
My companion to my left: Richard, I think.
The sound of gunfire boiling in the distance.
I dreamed I was a monk,
I dreamed I was a man,
I dreamed I was everywhere—
everywhere became what I am.
In Selma they start
Hand- in- hand
With love and warm hearts.
To be able to vote and be equal someday
This is their cry,
To Jesus they pray,
On that Bloody Sunday.
