In the first year of the Zhihe era's change, locusts came from none knew where.
At dawn they flew, blotting out the sun, like ten thousand sieves of dust in air.
By dusk they gnawed the earth, a thousand acres bare, piling in layers, burying all there.
Tree bark and bamboo tops stripped dry, and even grass and grain roots they'd tear.
One locust breeds a hundred young, twice a month, fearing they'd fill the sky and ground everywhere.
Fine crops and sweet grass we dare not spare, yet fear the weight might sink the land into the sea's lair.
All creatures starve, not yet dead, their bones turned to dragon's paste in despair.
Farmers gather, weeping to heaven, blood dripping, earth rotting, skin laid bare.
Vast and dim, far and farther, whether Heaven hears, none can declare.
My heart then knew sorrow, tears pouring from both eyes in a stream.
I wrote a poem cursing locusts, sweeping my brush bare in angry theme.
One chant darkens the bright sky, two recitals make ghosts in the underworld scream.
Hoping Heaven's ear might hear, I rose at midnight, reading it thrice in dream.
Before Heaven heard, suddenly came a dream of meeting locusts' swarm.
Thousands of locusts came before me, mouths mumbling, faces showing harm.
At first their whispers were but chirps, then rose to debates like human norm.
They asked why I was foolish, to write a poem cursing their form.
'We and you live apart, why write of us? State your case in this storm.'
I was angry and shocked, my tongue sprouting branches in scorn.
Said I, 'You filthy remnants dare to reproach mankind, forlorn?'
'Though your kin are many, my plan is long set and sworn.
I'll appeal to Heaven, borrow a giant hand, by morn
Uproot all pines, cypresses, bamboos in the east, with iron twisted into broom.
Sweep you into the sea, press you with mountains, to a common doom.
Yet you dare speak through men, judging my poem's worth, in gloom.'
The locusts sighed at me, saying our views differ in scope.
'I wish to speak to you, pray do not lightly mope.
Though we are locusts, our hearts understand your human hope.
You humans call each other, feasting as host and guest in trope.
Guests drink a hundred cups, hosts not scolding but with joy elope.
Is this true or not? Come, to us your case you should ope.'
I replied, 'Yes, this is human ritual, clear and near.
Welcoming guests with food and drink is indeed a cause for cheer.'
Locusts said, 'Your words are right, why should our eating bring us fear?
We do not spawn ourselves, humans summon us to feast here.
Even if we exceed, to scold us would be unfair, severe.
I've heard among you humans, ranks of noble and base appear.
Gracious officials of talent, elegant scholars of virtue dear.
They strip off tiger skins, pretending to sage kings' frontier.
Teeth hide needles, bellies hold worms, insincere.
Their words wield fortune and power, gestures command praise or spear.
The world responds to their breath, a thousand miles bend to their steer.
They flay the common folk, drink blood to fatten their skin sheer.
Devour the good, chewing, unwilling to clear.
Rooms lined with flutes and笙, separate houses with concubines near.
One body owns ten thousand beams, one mouth stores a thousand granaries' gear.
Children inherit high posts, servants wear official attire.
Dogs feast on rich food, stables have embroidered veneer.
Next are soldiers, runners, actors, in human sphere.
Sons not treating fathers as fathers, wives not husbands as husband, unclear.
Ministers not serving lords, people not homing in their mere.
Eyes don't know ox or mulberry, hands don't touch plow or spear.
In peace they bear no arms, leather wraps spears, insincere.
They open mouths awaiting food, granaries pour all they revere.
Families hide no loom, yet wear embroidered silk robes, dear.
High halls spill fine wine, sliced meat and a hundred fish appear.
Fine timber carved for pillars, tall houses hold emptiness, sheer.
The poor have no huts, father and son on mats, austere.
The lowly starve, no food, wife and children sigh in fear.
Noble and base though differ, their kind shares one origin, clear.
This is humans eating humans, yet you blame us, shifting the blame here.
We are named locusts, but what we eat is surplus, without peer.
Wu's famine eats from Yue, Qi's hunger eats Lu's frontier.
Our harm you can escape, your harm never disappears.
Yet you write poems cursing us, are your words not oblique, my dear?'