The returning soldier falling on his knees,
bends his grateful head to kiss and smell
the earth of his birth, her fragrance headier
than the headiest wine of freshly plucked grapes.
What’s it with you mother that reminds me
of Paradise, a place that has snowy capped
mountains, crystal clear water streaming down
their slopes, spreading across the vale, a source
of life for countless millions sustained by your
bounty, blessing and beneficence and nothing else?
Despite the plunder and destruction for selfish ends,
Despite the disrespect and damnation heaped on you,
You my mother, show a love that far surpasses
that of the fickle-minded, the frail, the inconsequential.