Classic Poem

A male tiger, in his cave on a high peak where evil spirits roam,
stretches and rises, full of his strength, and with his heart moved
by a hunger for meat, taking whatever direction he may wish,
sets out ravenously in search of his prey. You are like him,
with your intent to kill and obliterate the kings of the north,
Valuti whose chariot is well fashioned, whose warfare is fierce
and blazing! Since you have willed your war, who are these kings
of the wide earth? They are surely to be pitied, on whose lands
long streamers of smoke that smelled of flesh rose once from the fish
cooking in every town, to wreathe around the curving branches
of marutam trees in the fields of paddy. But now those lands
are ruined, their fine wealth lost, turned to forest where the wild hens
streaked with spots lay their eggs to fill the handsome gambling halls
pitted by the pieces slammed down in play by white-haired old men
in huge public squares that are barren now, where sacrifices
no longer are performed, so that the gods
once worshiped with uproar have left their pillars behind!