若眼眸為靈魂之窗 手指則是道盡故事的獨舞者
穹蒼潤澤幻化 從世宗的雨過天青雲破處 徽宗的剔透冰裂玲瓏瓷
靛藍泛紫斑滲透著紋路 如血 如詩 如火 如花
到黑白影像中廣袤如墨的青衣綢緞 瀑布似流暢著水袖的樂音
空洞窗櫺與月華宣紙淺淺隱藏著洩漏不了的秘密
它卻為最美的絳唇 點綴出最美的頌歌
* * * * *
Mei Lanfang’s Sepia Qingyi
Should eyes be the window to the soul,
fingers are the dancers narrating all stories, all tales.
Ever-evolving hues of the sky:
From a morning sky after the rain, where clouds break,
ice-crazing of porcellaneous translucency,
where light filters through its celadon glaze,
purple veins of permeating sapphire—
Reminiscent of blood, of poetry ablaze, of paradoxically languishing eudaimonia;
To the vastness of qingyi’s silk in black and white,
coruscating like the darkest ink,
a cascade of singing melodies from the dancing water-sleeves—
breathing, conversing, ever-changing, ever-fixed…
Hollow flowers in the windowpanes, moonlight-swept paper drapes,
softly hide the secret never to be told, never to be known.
The secret that embroiders the most beautiful paean
from his most beautiful carnelian lips.
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