I’m not; no, no, no – I’m not,
I’m not a fancy, brown balloon
Floating freely on a foreign sky,
Being lulled by fluffy clouds.
I’m still that proud, sturdy tree
Living in a land, a fertile land,
Whose soil, yet, is foreign to me,
Foreign to this proud, sturdy tree.
You watered me with your sweat,
And you fed me with your blood;
So, I know, I owe you all my fruits,
Fruits that I waste in a foreign land.
Copyright © Dec. 17, 2018, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay