Journey through Tragedy

Author: Na T. Herr
Written Spring 2002 Revised January 29, 2008

In a distant land where spirits play and dragons talk
Where shamans walk and tigers stalk
Through green swamps nestled in dense jungles
Up to the lush mountaintops where flourish the Hmong, from China to the Mekong.

A small bird flutters down to rest for the night
In a small hut made of straws held tight
It lands next to the lantern, which is glowing orange, a sad orange.
The bird sings a melancholy tune of wars and struggles to come.

It grieves for its ill-fated companions the Hmong, victims of time and place.
Their ancestors had become angry because of their diminishing loyalties,
Because when the children gather round for stories
Now Grandma weaves and tells a different tale, of different fairies.

Not of Nou-she-long and his long journey to the world beneath
Nor of Dao-chua and his reliance on the merciful elderly.
Not of the cunning water buffalo who gains a herd.
No, those stories have become less heard.

But Grandma tells of one man who died so all may live, sacrificing unselfishly.
“His name is Yexu-, and He loves you.
Your burdens you may lay down in front of Him
The wrath of ancestors no longer rule because you’ve been washed out of sin.”

The bird takes off at break of dawn, just as tanks roll in
From the dense jungles, leaving tracks of destruction.
The hut is leveled and ruined, no trace of dignity nor compassion,
And before long all is lost, not to be regained.

For a people who never really had anything, it is just another loss
In this land where spirits play, dragons talk, shamans walk, and tigers stalk.
All is lost except one thing, their Creator who loves them
And who died for them so they may gain everlasting Heaven.