Swordsmen in white robes offer rose bouquets
as a politeness, before swordplay starts.
The silver blades that nearly pierce their hearts
are lighter than the air. The words they say
a mystery to me and the music shrill
The swordsmen leap and dance and nearly fly
and in their battles random people die
for getting in their way. All swordsmen kill
but I have no idea why these shed blood,
I don’t speak Cantonese or Mandarin
the tongues soundtrack and subtitles are in.
Perhaps in English, I’d have understood.
But mostly we watch life, see it, are blind
as hands we can’t see stab us from behind.