Classic Poem

They who roll their wheels of the law across the earth,
they who master elephant herds, whose royal drums roar
like the clouds in the sky where the many stars glitter,
they are all grieving together on the battlefield. Mother
of children! Woman of a noble house! You whose hair
is gray and now without fragrance, unperfumed! I too
am grieving! You must look! On the fearful battlefield
where men of bravery, indomitable, listened to the sweet
sound resound of the tannumai drum as it summoned up
the warrior armies with its booming voice, where they met
in a great battle to dominate the center of the field,
there they mourn that man of valor
who fell by the sword, like a tree cut through with a giant ax!