tlhIngan-Hol Archive: Tue Nov 21 18:23:34 1995
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One more try with this ballad...
Okay... Ignore the earlier versions, *this* one shouldn't be messed up.
HIvqa' veqlargh....
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The War Ballad of Koloth (qolotlh veS bom)
lommeymo' may' yotlh legh'be'lu'
Corpses liter the battle field
ngechmey teb 'Iwchaj
Their blood fills the vale
porghmeyvo' vIH SeS 'e'mo' chal leghbe'lu'chu'
Steam rises from the bodies; obscuring the sky
chal qIjmoHtaH tlhIch
Smoke blackens the heavens
jaghpu'chaj chop SuvwI'pu' 'etlhmey
Warriors' blades bite their enemies
yoD paw' yoD
Shield colides with shield
'etlh bot 'etlh
Sword blocks sword
jach 'Iwchaj
Their blood screams
nIvwI'Daj qIH SuvwI'
An enemy meets his match
'ej tortaHvIS Hegh
And dies on his knees
qolotlh, SuvwI'na', 'etlhDaj Say'moH
Koloth, the warrior, wipes his blade clean
nIteb jaghmeyDajDaq ghIr
He descends on his enemies
tIqDaj luQeq DuQwI'naQmeychaj
Their spears aim for his heart
Hom ghor baS
Metal breaks bone
DIr Surgh pach
Claw rips flesh
jach 'Iwchaj
Their blood screams
nIteb jagh charghta'bogh Dung Qam qolotlh
Koloth stands alone above the vanquished
luQIDta' jIvmoH
He ignores his wounds
may' yotlhDaq 'Iw jagh joqwI' nej
He searches the battle field for the banner
of his blood enemy
'Iw veSmo' luQojtaH
They make war to settle a blood fued
ghol rI' 'ej qorDu' quvvaD tonSaw' tagh
He hails his adversary and begins the fight for
his family's honor
Quch mup Quch
Forehead strikes forehead
'Iw DuD 'Iw
Blood mingles with blood
jach 'Iwchaj
Their blood screams
Qap qoloth, taH qorDu'Daj quv
Koloth is the victor, his family's honor endures
vaHvo' taj lel 'ej DaQDaj chIpDI' chev
He draws his knife from its sheath and cuts off
his ponytail
gholDaj lomDaq jIb chagh
He drops the hair on the body of his adversary
qoloth ghomDI' vajpu'Daj ghu' luchenmoH
Koloth's warriors form a circle around him
rInpu' may' 'ej quv leHchu'
The battle is over, honor has been maintained
ghogh muv ghogh
Voice joins voice
vaj van vaj
Warrior salutes warrior
jach 'Iwchaj
Their blood screams
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"Had I not known that I was dead already,
I would have mourned the loss of my life"
-Ota Dokan, Japanese poet
(written while a knife protruded from his chest)
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