The son of heaven,  erupts with rage,
The south, dare profane my land,
The court tries to appease,
But to no avail.

The emperor's decree,
Bugle the horn and prepare for war!
The granaries full, the armoury filled,
The journey is long.

The soldier,
Kneel, to their parents,
Pray to their gods,
And fly kisses to their love,
Then they march.

Treacherous road, even more the goal,
The entourage proceeds,
Joins the youth, with sickle and hoes,
To their end,
For the love of their land.

South is in sight,
This green plain, todays battleground,
The sun dazzles the land,
As it awaits without care.

The enemy a swarm of yellow,
And ours the mighty black,
The dawn is long,

Close they eyes,
Reminiscence if it's their last,
The tears of mother,
The stern look on my father,
The embrace of love,
And the playful children.

Bugle,
And they march,
The horse gallops,
And within heart blazes a fire,
Of anger and wrath,
For their country.

Clang, the shields raised high,
Roar, the spears pierce deep,
And shine the metallic armour,
And dye the green with red.

The wind bellows,
And With it carries the smell of blood,
The land a shade of green and dark red,
A beautiful red poppy.

The light of day dares not intrude the flower,
Herein lies the true hell, feast upon it,
And see what you create,
The bugle calls the end of war,
But none a soul shouts a victory call

In a serene morning,
A widow, dares interrupt my court,
Within a web of spears,
The widow with eyes of fire,
Shouts,

"His Majesty, Your imperial highness, I hear
Your country won, What about the people?"

THE WAR

Moon as a jade hangs serenely under the untainted sky,
A wolf nearby howls incessantly,
The cicadas cry without melody,
But the dance of leaves of a cherry blossom
Quells the anger

The clattering of summer birds,
Against the frame of that small window,
The soft honks that disturbs their dawn,
And the giggles escaping our lips,

The wheezes from clearly tired bodies,
From the small games we used to play,
And the shouts of the old lady,
Sounds so distant yet near,

Remember the ordinary days?
Do you miss it too?

As memories become,
Ruins of the past,
Remnants of history,
Hazy and distant

See, how time flies

If, if light were to reach every nook and corner,
Nothing would have remained dark,

Yet, night comes to remind,
Even those illuminated have just 6 hours left!!

I can feel you screaming within,
Of joy in times,
And of who knows how many songs,

I can sense you,
Reaching out to the fore-est of my forehead,
And
Like a tide in sea,
You sweep away all that I am,
And fill me with you,

With ahoy-joy you jump: within me,
However, I sense I feel,
I am still here.
I am fully aware.