Soldier on the frontier

1. It’s May but the mountains are cloaked with snow. A flute plays an old song of spring but the landscape is locked in winter. I join a battle in the morning, marching and retreating to the gongs. Exhausted, I sleep at night with my head on my saddle. I wish I could pull my sword from the scabbard at my side and end this war with a single strike, but I can slaughter only snowflakes. 2. We are the army chosen by heaven, but we’ve been sent into the wilderness. Our horses are worn out; they want to drink clean water, not ice. I’ve fought in hundreds of battles and have slept in swamps and deserts. I don’t care about my own comfort; I’m just glad to be alive. I’ve tasted the deaths of many men and they don’t make me feel at peace. After we defeat the barbarian hoard, then I’ll sleep soundly. 3. My horse is like the wind that whips over southern rivers. When I shoot my arrows at the sky, fate bends its knees. Rebels scatter like the stars as I rush toward their camp. They’re confused, lost in the fog, and I’m the monsoon. When these battles are done, the victors won’t be soldiers like me. All the glory will be the emperor’s— safe in his palace. 4. My horse stands out, a golden mirror; my sword is like lightning. But I’m awakened from my dream by the misery of the people. Children are murdered. Cattle stolen. Families watch their homes burning. Embers rise in the night like fireflies, and the cold moon extinguishes them. How can the sycamore grow and put out its seeds when its limbs have been shredded? Alone, no one sees me crying.