The Orchid Pavilion
Practicing calligraphy at the Orchid Pavilion, the semi-cursive script resembling sailing clouds and flowing water
Under the moon the door yielded to a gentle push, your thoughtfulness reflected in your fragile footsteps
?
In haste, the one-thousand-year tablet is easy to copy, yet your beauty is not
If the original script were gone, to whom would I give my heart?
I was playing the flute over the rice wine and several dishes
The sun’s setting rays were like your blushes as if drunk
A copy is easy to make, and the fragrance of the ink did not fade away, like the remnants of your scent
A stripe of cinnabar, whose name after all did it circle?
CHORUS:
No matter when, I write the preface while awaiting your return
Holding the brush with my arm in mid-air, I completed the character, the waves piled up against the shore
But how could I understand the character “love”? Whatever stroke I started with always seemed wrong
because the one thing I lack, is the understanding of your life
CHORUS
Years passed in a snap of fingers, beauty vanished in an instant
On the bluestone alley, you glanced back and smiled with grace and restraint
Have you regretted or not? You shook your head and sighed. Who put a frown on your face?
And deep in the lady’s chamber, the smell of the rouge lingered in vain
As geese flew south in a v-pattern, I turned around and caught a glimpse of your tears
Holding a handful of moonlight in my hands, how could I sleep with those memories?
And how could the matters of your heart be so tightly sewn into the embroidered shoes, with every pair of stitches so filled with resentment?
If the flower resented the butterfly, whom would you resent?
CHORUS
No matter when, I write the preface while awaiting your return
These handwritten words have no qualms, not afraid of the rights and wrongs of the human world
The rain has been striking the banana leaves, the whistling and pattering having lasted for several nights
I await the spring thunder to remind you who you really love
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