为你碾尽一池墨香飘如尘烟

作者:华不丹人气:218更新:2021-07-13 10:54:04

空寂的夜晚,轻抚思念的琴弦 ,宛如行云流水 ,推动着心海泛舟,荡漾深情。
  
  是你,这样逗留在我的文字里不肯离去 ,成为我蓦然回首时的那盏灯火 。是你,这样舍不得远离,在我的文字里成为亘古不变的痴情 。美丽了我的文墨 ,温暖了我的心河,让我把文字写进月光,写进喜悦 ,写进离愁,写进思念,写进红尘深处。
  
  昨夜的一场冬雨 ,迷湿了我苦等的眼睛,恍惚间,伊人伫立彼岸 ,于我深情痴望。或者 ,前世奈何桥上的回眸,喝下孟婆汤前的誓言,都只是为了今生的相逢与不曾错过 。三千青丝如这细柔的雨缠绵成帘 ,湿润着思念的心情,陪伴着寂寞的漂泊,青丝是前世的印痕 ,你却是我再也无法遗忘的今生。瓦檐下滴嗒的雨声,是我在梦中想你的呓语,如泣如诉 ,唯你可知唯你能懂。文字都无法描绘那是何等美妙的瑰梦,只愿沉睡在破晓前永不醒来,哪怕千年?只可惜梦醒情末了 ,我任然无法确定这份等待的情缘,无法看清那瞬间的情殇 。
  
  我的今生如果你不曾来过,那将是我流年中最苍白的一幕。或许 ,风雨中我依然跌跌撞撞一路漂泊 ,像一只大海中孤零的小船,无岸可靠,是不是我的天涯要你来挽留?
  
  给你的爱 ,在我的文字里静静地敲击心灵的门窗,一扇接着一扇,为着那今生注定的宿命 ,我站在岁月的风口承受狂风暴雨的吹打,执着的相信你不远的归期。每个孤独的夜晚,将予你的思念写进一弯冷清的月光 ,透过窗外如水的月色,看到的是满街繁华灯火,仆仆红尘 。心 ,却在体会着似曾遥远的虚空,为你留一方清雅的角落,让纯真的爱驻留 ,不需任何繁华的的装点 ,只愿与你此刻或是多年以后,真实的平淡着相濡以沫直到老去。
  
  岁月在指缝间如沙滑落,我疲惫的手指无法挽住流年 ,昙花在午夜暗自绽放,短短一现,莫非只是为了与美丽相逢?谁来怜惜它的短暂 ,挽留它曾经的芬芳?是否,我和你,真的只是隔着一朵花的距离?花开的一瞬不是为着相逢 ,而是为着不曾错过的欣喜。为着这一刻,所以忍受分离,且不惧这分离是天各一方还是终将遥遥无期 。因着这无期在心中有期 ,所以甘愿等待,因着这等待而凋谢了多少季花期,所以满头青丝鬓白 ,岁月萧萧落地。
  
  我深情的文字里有你在吟唱着我的离愁我的无可奈何 ,没有你的日子,我像伏尔加河的纤夫步步维艰。岁月看你我在对岸苦苦煎熬,然后寸寸老去 。文字堆积起来的情感在流年中慢慢憔悴 ,被光阴的箭射穿一盏又一盏挂着希望的心灯,莫非你我终要成为过客?
  
  再读给你的文字,心中有疼痛在悸动 ,常在叩问自己,应该将你放于何处,又将自己放在哪里?文字因谁而美丽?文字为谁而哭泣?为谁而写下永远的忧伤 ,为谁而注于快乐的音符?为谁在春天里播下承诺,为谁誓言要在风雨中携手前行?
  
  耳旁有风拂过你幽怨的声音,突然沉默如空 。
  
  或许你不懂得我的感伤 ,常常困惑于我的优柔寡断,或许,你永远触摸不到我心底的这份宁静 ,那么我无语亦无言 ,心已疲惫,只能让我文字的幽魂寂寞的在你心上空空的萦绕。
  
  今夜又为你写下忧伤的篇章,思念与泪水在字里行间浅唱低吟 ,我修长的手指飞舞于灰白的键盘,为你碾尽一池墨香,记录我们的爱恨交织 ,那些流逝了永不迂回的情节,一段,一段。即便要在哪一个飘着细雨的日子 ,泪眼中模糊了相背而去的身影,如干年后,偶尔轻轻地想起 ,这些文字还能缤纷,还能在记忆中铺展,因为是曾经爱过的见证 ,因为是别后思念的延续 ,因为是当初某时经过的一场风花雪月,短暂的像昙花一样,却如此刻骨铭心 。 

英译版本:

The night of empty night, the strings of the thoughts, like the clouds, driving the boating of the heart, swing deep feelings.

It is you, so staying in my text, I can't take it in my text, I became the lights that I was still looking back. It is you, so you can't stay away, becoming an unchanging infatuation in my text. Beautiful my text, warms my heart, let me write the text into the moonlight, write into joy, write into the 愁, write into the thoughts, write into the red dust depth.

Last night, a winter rain, the eyes, the eyes, the eyes, the merits, Iraqi, I am deeply awkward. Alternatively, the front of the front of the front of the front of the front of the front, and the vows in front of Meng Po soup is just for the meeting and never missed this life. Three thousand silk, such as this thin rain, wet, mood, accompanying lonely drift, the blue silk is the printed in the past, but you can no longer forget this life. The rain drops under the wald, I am thinking about your words in my dreams, such as crying, only you know you can understand. The text can not describe what a wonderful dream, I will only wake up before you sleep, even if you are afraid of millennium? Unfortunately, the dream is awake, I can't determine the love of this waiting, I can't see the instantaneous love.

If you have never been there, it will be the pale scene in the year. Perhaps, I still fall in the wind and rain, I can't fall all the way, like a boat in a large sea, the shore is reliable, is it my end of the world to stay?

Give you love, quietly tap the door and windows of the soul in my text, a fan, for the fate of this life, I stand in the Years of the wind to be blown up , Persistently believe you not far from the return. Every lonely night, will give you a mist to write a bright moonlight, through the window of water, such as the moonlight of the water, is full of bustling lights, servant red dust. Heart, but in the heart of a distant void, let you stay in the elegant corner, let the pure love to stop, don't need any bustling points, just wish to be with you or have been in the moment, the real plain Until old.

Years in the fingers, such as sand, my tired fingers can't hold the year, bloom in midnight, short, is it just to meet with beauty? Who will pityIt's short, retaining it has been fragrant? Whether, I am, really just a distance of a flower? A moment of blossoms is not for meeting, but is a delighted joy who has never missed. For this moment, I endure separation, and it is not afraid that this is a party or the one party is still. Because of this life, it is willing to wait, because of this waiting, how many quarter season is spent, so the head is white, and the years are young.

I have a deep words in the text, you are singing my unfortunately, without your days, I am struggling in the volga river. When I see you, I am suffering from the opposite side, then inch. The emotions of the text are slowly embarrassed in the year, and the arrows of the Yin Yin wear a heart-stop lamp. What do you want to be a passer?

Read it to you, there is pain in the heart and move, often ask yourself, what should you put, where you put yourself? Who is the text? Who is the text crying? Who wrote a thoughtful injury, who is caught in the happy note? Whoever will promise in the spring, who is vowed to work in hand in the wind?

There is a sound of your obstacles on the ear, suddenly silent.

Maybe you don't know my feelings, often confused about my east, maybe, you will never touch this peace in my heart, then I am speechless, my heart is exhausted, I can only let me The soul of the text is lonely in your heart.

Tonight, I wrote a sad chapter in sorrow, miss and tears sing low in the word in the word, my slender fingers flying in the gray keyboard, giving you a pool, record our love and hate Interleaving, those plots that have never returned, one, one. Even in which one floating the rainy rain, the tears blurred and went to the figure. After the day of the year, I think it gently, these words can be colorful, and they can shop in memory because it is once I have been witnessed because it is a continuation of not thinking, because it is a wind and snow that has passed at the beginning, just like a flowers, but in this case.

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