Man jiang hong:
A homeland after upheaval
The gloomy mood within is hard to describe.
Spring is almost gone, the mugwort has just sprouted;
The window adornments overlap one another.
The eaglewood in the burner has turned to ashes, but still I am loath to get up;
The small window faintly shows the clouds and moon.
Sad it is, that life isn’t like a lotus in the water,
With hearts entwined.
Tears of parting
Brim with blood,
Flowing without end,
Their waves swelling with sobs.
Seeing wild geese return in groups
Often compounds my biting grief.
More and more my kohl brows pale in the mirror;
Now and then the waning moon appears at bedside.
This spring, did I dream of visiting my hometown
And startling the cuckoos?