On the day that I,
a robust banana tree,
never needing shade in my water plot,
rising up with the vigour and ardour
that all vegetation shares,
on the very day I put forth
a cluster of flowers, ready to fruit,
your sickle felled me,
flayed me, tore apart my body.
All the same, around my feet,
right up to my ankles,
again and again they will rear their heads
my majestic crests.