Gandhi’s truths are motionless beneath an image born,
A version’s accent that only seems to change; perceptions lie.
The eyes, the ears, the touch, all senses testify
Before the centre. Memories, chattels of the intellect, are torn
Between the ëgo and its mirror. He will board that train,
And see his own distinction — one-way ticket bound
Zephyrs tell him what he only thinks he knows. Hounds
And adverbs pursue him, winds he cannot name remain
constant comments as he moves through distances
That never crossed his mind. The earth is twinned,
The gears are jammed, yet breezes, golden prayer wheels, spin.
The pinnacle not the single shot of infamy―not the sun, but suns―an incident
Within a galaxy’s corruption far beyond its crucibles, hopes and cosmic excess:
Energy and matter never tire while circumstantial certainty leads destiny to rest.