Red Lotus

Oh, the immaculate red lotus
The queen of flowers
The seat of Buddhas
Tell me, this grown-up foetus
The secret of your excellent status
In spite of the trotting trend
That you grow in the muddiest pond,
In the stinking ground

Oh, the flawless red flora
The crown of vegetation
The seat of Buddhas
How is that neither mud
Nor the filthy fluid
From which you derive your nourishment
Touch not your tender petals
Nor corrupt your fragrance?

Henry Victor 14.02.1995