So Much Affection, a Cup of Wine, Unable to Quench a Lifetime of Sorrow and Melancholy
Life is fleeting, like dust blown by the wind; why not plan a high strategy and seize the key path.
After countless life storms, countless affections have faded, countless heroic deeds have become dreams, and countless sincere feelings have dissolved into a cup of wine.
Loneliness and sorrow break the hearts of countless people; tearful eyes conceal the longing of countless others.
Through a thousand years of sorrow, who will bury my last tear?
The purple bamboo flute's mournful sound, turning through the red dust, a glance through a thousand years, your eyes capture the beauty of a painting; after countless lifetimes of joy and sorrow, you are the one who takes my fate.
In armor and with righteous fury, I danced a song of glory for you; in ten years of wandering, dressed in bridal attire, I became your wife.
The strings are broken; who will listen? The sword is shattered; who will wield it?
I once thought snow on moss would wait; but it was only a dream, a fleeting life.
I try to avoid memories of you, to return to a peaceful state, to let my heart be calm and serene.
But in a single glance, you forgot a thousand years of tenderness, planting an enduring sorrow in my life.
A thousand cups of wine can't drown the sorrows of this life; a thousand volumes of melancholy.
Layer upon layer, word by word, carved with intent, only one clear poem sings an unchanging story, fading into the heart.
Light a lamp, listen to the sound of a lone flute throughout the night, waiting for someone, waiting until the four turns of the seasons.
The wind blows across heavy doors, the courtyard is cold and lonely, a red letter summons an ancient connection.
History turns the page, preserving this memory; a lonely life painted beneath a pair of doves.
A thousand vows in Chang'an, who still waits? Too much earnestness, a dream—you painted this scene at your city gates.
I paint a landscape with mountains and homes, snow falls, burying a thousand-layered pagoda; a separation of life and death, loneliness across the vast sea.
A dream—you raised the strings, a style of elegance, playing a song of old age and beauty, snow falls, burying a thousand-layered pagoda.
Like the moonlight in a mirror, he doesn't know the truth; I brew a pot of tea, break off a sprig of white plum blossoms, I open a green umbrella, and the rain falls softly.
Peach blossoms bloom before the tombs, stirred by the wind and sand; who's longing lingers on the stone tablets? A dream—you painted this scene at your city gates.
The lotus has two colors—one named 'life,' the other 'death'; people follow these two thoughts—one thinks of departure, the other of remaining.
At the beginning of life, countless hardships; at the end, countless lamentations; remaining for the world.
