2025 October 9

— On the southern battlefield, he lifted his face to the sky, silently singing in his heart:
— A song rose from afar:In the stillness of night, at the end of darkness;Seeing all things—suffering and joy, every form of sorrow and compassion,Knowing where they all arise.If the enemy commits evil, they will see the fruit of evil themselves.

— How pitiful that they point their guns at civilians, at women with frail hands and soft steps.

— Foolish, foolish—they have provoked a thorny nation.Serves them right, serves them right.
— He turned toward the eastern front and said, “Damn it!”

— I already know it all:the fourteen soldiers—each of them—what they’re doing here,each has earned his merit.

— Now we must march east, fight, and return with spoils.Yet I see only idleness—men lying on their backs, lost in sleep.Do not be like useless mortals who accomplish nothing.

— Rise! Do something!The southern sky cracked open with streaks of gunfire.Across the scorched fields, the brown grass curled like human hair.

— The wind blew in from the sea, salty,carrying the scent of blood and gunpowder.In the forest shadows to the east, young soldiers curled up like sleeping cats,while he lifted his face and sang softly—half a drop of blood, half a vow.