• 《真正攞命》（凡六）Lorn of life (six parts)
With every faculty I reflect upon the ways of life.
As I face the royal heavens, I must ask them a question:
‘Why does my lover sway fitfully, like a weak willow catkin in the wind?
‘Why am I, a bruised flower on the water’s surface, washed yet not pure?
‘Since men seek amid domains of moon and wind for the happy land,
‘Why then do I, in this cluster of vapour and of flowers, build me up Sorrow Town?’
Thus am I ever as Siu Tsheng, who, since she saw not in her mirror the shadow of her former life,
Therefore made secret complaint to the vast heavens, asking their aid in her support.
Verily no medicine can heal disease within the heart.
Who will be my witness?
I myself confess my malady; then I myself take knowledge thereof.
Yes, the murderer of man’s life is his own insensate passion.
Truly I am lorn of life; in very deed I have suffered passion’s impulse.
I know not to whom I should tell my tale of spring regret.
Although the green willow’s bent be to draw upward the weak tendrils,
Yet mostly in Chong-thoi, when spring grows old, there is despair and chill poverty.
If there be wise men who praise our spring-wind faces,
All such have sympathy with us, because afflicted with disease like ours.
Who, say you, does not resent his fall to ruin in this place of wind and dust?
Mostly the bruised red blossom cannot flutter from beneath the inexorable sky;
Therefore it drifts desolate, as a swallow that has left her nest.
Ah! The wind is a wild fan.
I have lost my way and cut me a path through the jungle.
So all my life is a grave, entombed in a field of flowers.
Truly I am lorn of life; in very deed I have suffered passion’s grip.
That with you I swore to the ocean and made oath to the mountain, herein was my mind’s error.
When the face turns backwards, a good dream seems but a picture,
Like to the bright moon on the water, or to the flower in the mirror.
Thought-pure as the plum-blossom, vainly have I wedded the east wind.
At the last my exceeding love is flouted, even as that of Ngok Luk-wa.
My hurt makes it the less easy for me to haul down my heart’s fluttering pennon.
Meseems I should have died in your home, my lord.
In men’s presence I dare not yet frankly speak my mind.
Ah! Lord, ponder secretly hereon;
Were our oaths true or false?
My hope is you will soon embark upon the raft which at autumn-tides moors in the moon.
Truly I am lorn of life; in very deed I have suffered passion’s beckoning.
I am spurned to and fro like duckweed; thus it is that the waves tumble and toss me.
My lord, after your green garb was wet, then my sweetheart vanished.
Even had I a new song, I should blush to sing of Nim No the Beautiful.
I grieve, I do but grieve, that by the willow banks the transience of wind and moon is understood so easily.
Where, say you, has the full moon of the first month been a nightly visitant?
The moon sinks, the crow caws, men are full of care.
Truly the clouds scatter; joyance is like an ebbing tide.
Fain would I end my love for thee, but I know not when will be its ending.
Aye! Our hearts lok one into the other.
Bitterly I invoke the royal heavens.
Heaven! Why are these linked to those and then reft from them at the last?
Truly I am lorn of life; in very deed I have suffered passion’s frenzy.
The giant growth of my hidden love for you was wrong in its first beginning.
To-day no one passes over the lotus river.
On whom will my jade-mirror rely to paint my eyebrows with aniline?
Now the lamp is broken; the moon is waning; my sorrow knows no respite.
Even were there a sleep spirit, he could not charm away the tears that suffuse my autumn-glancing eyes.
So rain veils the Witches’ Mountain. My spring dream is destroyed.
Like the partridge, I cry, cry in rapid complaint.
You have handed over to me the burden of your love-thoughts.
Ah! Truly regret is wrong.
Heaven! Thou shouldst have pity on us both.
Why need the doom of a marriage span, brief as dew, force on us fate’s snapping and grinding?
6. 真正攞命，卻被情傷，做乜知心人去話偏長。話起別離兩字我就三魂蕩。第一傷心還在過後思量。今日秋水蒹葭勞妹盼望。所謂伊人在水一方。點得再會共哥有期你心有異向。等我生為蝴蝶死作鴛鴦。或者在地在天消此糵 賬。唉！心欲喪。不能無此想，你睇海天無際，只剩一寸柔腸。
Truly I am lorn of life; in very deed I have suffered passion’s wound.
Why, when my sweetheart is gone, do my words perforce grow garrulous?
When I say the two words – ‘Depart! Farewell!” – my three souls are dissolved;
Yet ever the sorest heart-would is afterthought.
To-day the autumn waters and the tall rushes move your maid to wistfulness.
The man for whom I yearn is afar on the high seas.
Would that, when again I meet you, that day might wean your heart from turning elsewhere!
Then we, though butterflies in life, would in death be as a brace of teal.
Maybe on earth or in heaven I shall cancel this debt of sin.
Ah! My heart is lost in yearning.
I cannot forgo this desire.
Look you! Sea and sky are illimitable; but an inch-space cabins my poor heart.