...without a spear's wound

From a poem by Egyptian poet Amal Dunqul (my translation):
"I die in bed...the way donkeys die
I die, and the horn..
is blown in Damascus..
I die in the street: in the prefumes and fashion
I die, and the enemies
trample on the face of righteousness.
Not a spot on my body does not have a spear's wound
..without a spear's wound.."