A capital. An ancient city which stood
As a testimony to time.
A city of richness, of history;
Of dreams, come and gone;
Paths, upon which the great have walked.
And yet also of darkness.
Of thieves and beggars and murderers;
Of intrigue, of knives in the back;
Such was the Capital,
The heart of the land.
It may be dark, it may be evil;
But what day is there not followed by night?
What light is there that casts no shadows?
It was a city of the great;
Of the king. Of the people. Of the land.
Of the past. Of the future.
Yet it is no more.
Ravaged, by they who do not belong,
Who come from afar.
It is no more.
Ruins, of a song forgotten.
The history is lost.
The city is dead.
The land is dead.
But some say that the land only sleeps.
The people sleep.
In the night. In the darkness.
In time, as the sun rises in the East,
So will rise the people.
In glory. In splendor.
They will build the city.
They will wake the land.
And the songs forgotten will be sung again.
And the history will be remembered.
And the city shall stand,
In all the trappings of the past.
A city of the past. Of the future.
A city of dreams.
Of the land. Of the people.
This was written some time ago, and I though I’d post it here. I was thinking of Beijing, and all it’s been through since the Qing Dynasty. It’s sad. It breaks my heart. But I couldn’t bear a sad ending, so after I completed the first draft, I added a nicer ending (the part after the “~”).
Some of you may have read this already, since I’ve posted it elsewhere before. If you haven’t, please read and please comment. :)