The Self-Triumphed Hero
Writing sad poems, I started at age eight.
Though not becoming wiser at such a tender age,
Men grow old quickly; wartime causes such haste.
Bullets and bombs devastate the young,
Fertile fields becoming barren deserts!
Bloodshed and hatred continue for generations,
Lacking happiness, men suffer desolation,
Though laughing tonight, they fear weeping tomorrow,
Gasping quick breaths for fear of dying in sorrow,
Fear that springtime might be haunted with burials,
Their kindred might abruptly depart,
Fearing prisons, terror, and darkness
When ceasefire time arrives, no matter
which side survives.
How the country is darkened by hatred!
Lay down feuding hostilities!
Be courageous, turn away from darkness.
Put an end to greed for wealth and fame,
Burn up false, senseless doctrines.
What righteousness should cause bloodshed and bones to be shattered?
What dogma should cause homes to be ruined, families scattered?
If you just hold to your beliefs,
I to my opinions,
Through human language, we can come to reason.
protect their kind,
How can human hands smell of fellow friends' blood!
If you aspire to be audacious heroes,
Be formidable, conquer the self,
And naturally, on Earth peace will prevail.
Use gunpowder to make firecrackers lighted red
Happy Spring celebration sounds will fill all walkways instead,
With young and old dressed in their best.
Yellow apricots will flower, happy smiles shall bloom,
Daffodils blossom, new lives resume.
It is for this simple thing the people have been long waiting!