CRIMSON BLOSSOMS - TRIBAL RHYME

One of the things which distinguishes the terminology regarding headhunting is the depth of metaphor and the poetic description of the process. Heads harvested from rival tribes are described as bright red flowers, potent batteries, powerful totems, beloved friends, after death companions, and guardians against evil. They are considered to bring fertility to both fields and women; great power to both clans and houses; prosperity, happiness, and the absence of disease.
When the raiding party returns the heads are made welcome, chickens are slaughtered, the longhouse feasts, young maidens dance with the bloody heads and sing to them, and much rice wine is drunk from heirloom vats. Tomorrow the trophies will be prepared for long storage - cleansed of flesh, dried, polished, and woven into a wickerwork basket, for hanging in the rafters, where they will join the heads gathered in generations past, amid the boar-tusks and poison-bundles.
And next year, we will do it again.

While headhunting was most avidly practiced by upland tribes, even the civilized lowland polities had memories of headhunting, which under certain circumstances would either experience a sudden (joyfully) bloody resurgence, or be celebrated in song.

Here's a section from a Tamarao poem:

Jale sapuwang, kulo sametek,
Banta masurak, bala maketek;
Prawo sapasig, nente nagara,
Taralangtuwa Radja Bahara.
Takot ki banye, karana amok,
Ratos tan ribo, salaksa rampok;
Pangkod maadja, parong malisek,
Lalang taura, daga tapitek.
Li-ig na li-ig, terem takaga,
Tanggat pusaka, karga haraga;
Mayat ri hamog, lalo tararok,
Banye kapala, gantong marantok.

"Flowing like cloud drifts (the mass of warriors) altogether
Battled with war cries, conflicted monkey-like;
The boats along the river-bank sands, (arrayed) against the state,
Under the leadership of prince Bahara.
Fearful was the multitude, because of the blood-fury,
One hundred, one thousand, ten thousand in berserk rage.
The battle-standards erect, the war-swords sharp-gleaming,
The long grass crimson splattered, blood gushing,
Neck upon neck (till at last) sharpness became dull,
Seizing magically potent ritual heirlooms, and precious items;
Corpses in the battle-fog, recently swirled in motion,
A multitude of skulls, suspended and knocking together."


Now doesn't that just about get your juices flowing?