Floral Adoration

In times gone by
when there was relative peace and plenty
and the happiness of security
back in my homeland,
often did I visit you
to offer my prayers,
and a floral tribute
to your grace.

I owned a garden then,
yet the flowers that I brought you
were not all my own.
I would pick some
that were on the decay
and others from the wild on the way-
common flowers and ferns,
green twigs and pine cones-
while I kept behind like the selfish giant,
the most fragrant and the best
at my own behest.
You accepted my offerings
with majestic grace.

Now in the thraldom of exile
and forced into tenancy
I often seek you
and offer flowers like before.
I pinch them from my landlord’s lawn
early, before the dawn
or from the public park
away from people’s gaze,
or buy them sometimes
from the flower seller at your door.
You accept them
with your benevolent grace
as in the days of yore.

I am dying to return,
my all-knowing, my forgiving lord,
to my dear native land,
my garden to reclaim,
so I could offer you
the choicest and the best,
flowers grown with my toil.
I know,
you will again accept them
with your eternal grace.

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