By YUE Fei Translated by East-sea Fairy
The autumn cicadas wailed off the reel,
off the reel last night,
and I dreamed of returning to my birthplace, as real,
where a hideous and horrifying war-fire was burning with main and might.
Woke up with a start, I found that it was about midnight.
Getting up from bed, I walked around the staircase with lonely paces.
Dimly shined the moon light
outside the drapes trimmed with laces.
Deadly still and silent were the surrounding spaces.
For my country I've been striving for feats and fame long
till my dark hair has been streaked with gray,
and the bamboos and pines on my native hills have taken roots strong.
However, for the upper hand the doves are doing their assay.
Can I go back home? No way.
My worries my lute encases?
Oh, how can it be? In the chorus of a song of the highbrow type few could play.
Nobody would heed me to make his graces,
even if I keep on playing till the strings break in places.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem