Classic Poem

The blood splashed on swords that brought victory
makes them beautiful, like the red evening sky.
Their war anklets worn down on the battlefield, the legs
of conquerors are as smooth as the horns of killer bulls.
Shields spring holes from ringing arrows
as if they were mobile training targets.
While their riders gauge the time for attack
and urge them forward, horses bloody their mouths,
chafing at the bits, like tigers tearing throats.
Elephants assaulting gates, in ferocious action,
have blunted the points of their white tusks
and seem like Death himself devouring life!
And you in your splendor on your chariot decked with gold
and drawn by finely moving horses with waving plumes
are as wondrously radiant as the red sun when it rises
high into the sky out of the black ocean!
Because this is how you are,
the country of those men who have made you angry
wails without end, like a hungry motherless child!