Chosŏn Pando

Three million souls rest
Just below this
Craggy land.
Fallen, clawed down
By eagles,
By lions,
Torn from proud
Saddles,
Rats gnawing on
All that is left of theirs;
Ripping from the ground,
Invaders seek great fortune
To return it to whence they came,
Moving, aloof,
As if fuelled by the great fires of Heaven,
Sent forth to play upon
Demon harps,
Crushing the white fields,
Darkened on the mantlepiece
Of the rounded room.
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