The Soldier and the Stream
Confucius: He has not lived in vain
who dies the day he is told about the Way.
Lao Tzu: Highest good is like water.
Warrior,
sigh your consciousness
of war into my green banks:
I will raise your head to catch the song.
Tell me
why you blubber
for the clash of bright swords;
discipline: the growing stain of
life.
You mock the glistening of eyes that brought
me here; the scarlet banners, silver bells
and poems of piety. This slaughter tells
you otherwise. Yet noble deeds are taught
to men, and moral justice must be sought;
though hundreds soak their blood into these dells.
I did not come imbibed on ancient spells
of vengeance; drunk though others may have fought.
You mock my blood, my venerated blood,
the sauce of learning thickened with respect -
supped from duty's cup. You question honour,
rich with peasants' droppings and temple mud,
colourless in peace? Foe of intellect
and order, lover of the tiger's purr!
Broken child,
the way of water
is the way of stringless kites:
no drawing limits, no loosening frees.
Merit
and mystery
are one within its depths.
Shake Master's tree and Lao-blossoms
fall.
A stream that finds its meaning in its flow?
Is life not more than this? Is action vain?
Be still, dead warrior. The morning birds
will nestle in your hair till evenings slow,
and we are one great swell of monsoon rain.
