Palm Sunday Poem by Deepa Agarwal

You were not unaware
of the efficacy of the grand gesture.
The triumphant entry,
a torrent of palms swirling in the air.

But how did those welcoming fronds
transform themselves to scourges?
Heaven alone knows perhaps,
Heaven, who spawned those Siamese twins
agony and ecstasy,
knows that triumph is a crown of thorns
bloody footprints mark the path
that leads to the ultimate elevation
in the company of thieves.

Yet, the grand gesture survived.
We still wave palms transformed into crosses
commemorate your death
and celebrate your rebirth.