It isn’t true to say that
The joke of hiding one’s life
In the cover of a Sugar cane
Didn’t surprise me.
I don’t fail to feel
The wonder of how I escaped either.
No poor was in my mind at that moment,
No cause, save how to save me.
My lungs that swelled
Didn’t appear to be mine.
It was as if the world did turn
Topsy-turvy, for a moment.
For a moment
I mused up on the bedbug
Exposed to the sun’s heat
Running in vain for life.
The renegade’s cannonade had ceased,
And I, Che, alive.
My medical bag was heavy,
But heavier was the ammunition case
Which I chose.
This was not my rebirth -
But was my beginning.
Hello Raveendran, ' This was not my rebirth - But was my beginning... ' Good poems, but what for a bullet and Sidhardha? Kindest regards, Tsira
Such an ironic piece Raveendran about the responsibility of power and healing. You stir the reader's passion to take up arms and fight for what he believes in. Clever title. Great piece. love, Allie xxxx
So beautiful to feel a NEW start still with Experience to carry and as blessed as a beginning to call 'Bullet Buddha', alive to call a MOMENT in heat.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
quite deep and meaningful poem.....