Classic Poem

Across their chests the necklaces are swaying as if they were
half moons inlaid with the choice gems that resemble suns!
The royal drum to which sacrifices are offered resounds
within the camp and throughout the army in its multitudes that looks
as if a god had been provoked—the white flags of victory raised up
high in lust for war, the warriors whose feats have been monumental
spreading across the earth! Brahmins! Listen to the uproar
produced by the assault, its force as hard to withstand as Death himself!
This has nothing to with your Four Vedas! This is not a matter
for mercy. It has nothing to do with Righteousness but rather Acquisition!
Abandoning bewilderment, throwing delusion aside,
giving away lovely towns surrounded by paddy fields,
so that the ritual water flows like the ocean
from their hands, giving away heaps of cooked rice,
giving away finely fashioned ornaments because they feel sure
that they should not stay at home where the chatter
of their relations obscures the existence of the burning ground—
that broad place where on the wan, salty earth stretching out and covered
with tiny white bones, the strong-voiced crow and the owl shriek
even in broad daylight—they slip away to escape from home,
fearful of being confined to this
small world, so that they may reach heaven with their very bodies!