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You say that battle has already been fought
where no one has yet set foot,
neither enemy nor I.
No soldier lined up and no flags
called onto dispersed companions
to name unbeknown foes.
You say that battle has already been fought
into which I have not even set foot.
You say now there is no choice,
the body withers and the arms are frail.
I cannot bear the burden of this brutality,
this mountain of sorrow
that all tried but no one could move;
though they’ve all still mustered their prides.
Will the ungenerous soil of the beloved’s dwelling
never see the blooming of my blood again;
will those fields of red tulip never flourish again on those gentle palms?
Will these mournful silences never be broken
by the calls for truth, chanting from the slaughter grounds.
Even with the trials of passion that have been,
the defeat of flesh and soul that have been,
still more loss stands before there is any gain.
There is more mourning of flesh and soul to come
more trials await that are bitter still.