Mirage

I met her in the sky full of yellow sand; In the same yellow sand, she put down the knife in her hand and watched her leave; In the smoke of the battlefield, her bow was open like the full moon, but where the arrow pointed, there was her figure; In the splendid hall, she keenly caught the pair of eyes behind the black veil from the crowd... Too many people died. Too many things, what can I do? Both she and she were caught up in the rolling torrent. Tangle, tear, struggle, escape. Emotions, confidants, hatred, family and country. The final tranquility is still the yellow sand when we first met.