Classic Poem

Drawn swords in their battle lust have swept forward
as they broke through the garrisoned walls and then went
twisting out of shape, buried in flesh. Spears,
conquering the fortresses of his enemies, have ravaged
the land densely fragrant with toddy
and have ruined themselves, the nails shattered
on their dark, hollowed shafts. Charging
at gates bolstered by crossbeams, his elephants, shaking loose
the heavy ornamental rings tightened around their tusks, have battered
their way into the fortress against troops of enemy elephants.
Spread across the field, his horses attack and they destroy
the golden garlands of the warriors who stand massed against them,
while their hooves, laboring on the battleground, are stained with blood.
He himself, with his army like the ocean that encircles the earth,
wears a garland of golden tumpai blossoms and carries a shield
pierced by arrowheads that leave marks like leg rings and like tiny bowls.
How can those who draw his anger escape? Let me tell you
that if you wish to hold your fine and ancient city
where the ears of thick-stemmed paddy intertwine,
you must go and pay him tribute. Should you refuse,
he who is a conqueror in battle will not let it pass.
If you will not believe me, then do not wonder when you
will have to leave the arms of your tender women who wear small bangles
and a cluster of braids hanging down curled by a twisting jewel
in the shape of a fruit. Now that you have learned this, fight your war!