(By the courtesy of Yat Po Singers. Shared with permission.)

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Text in Original Language:

人生之一　《開卷》

人生，有很多事情，

如雨一閃，

從此沒有下文，猶如

滿紙荒唐言，一把辛酸淚！

都云作者痴，誰解其中味？

 

風、花、雪、月…...

人生，

就如為悲金悼玉的紅樓夢連戲。

 

人生之二　《現實》

一年三百六十日，風刀霜劍嚴相逼。

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人生之三　《飛．謝》

花謝花飛飛滿天，紅消香斷有誰憐？

天若有情天亦老，人如無思人便輕。

 

人生若是久長時，亦只得無可奈何。

天若有情天亦老，月如無恨月常圓。

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人生之四　《真．假》

假作真時真亦假，無為有處有還無。

 

人生之五　《葬花》

儂今葬花人笑癡，他年葬儂知有誰？

試看春殘花漸落，便是紅顏老死時。

一朝春盡紅顏老，花落人亡兩不知！

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Programme Notes:

In the course of life, many things would just come and go like rain, hitting the ground and that is it. This kind of helplessness and botheration, many times, could only be contained in the innermost of hearts. Consumed and languished in loneliness, only leads to the grieving burial of flower. With reference to the poem, the Song of the Burial of Flowers by Dai-yu Lin in the Dream of Red Chamber, lamenting the exact emotions, Grieving Burial of Flowers, a mini 5-scene a cappella choral theatre, breathes out the air of hopelessness and sings every regret of life.

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Part 1: Prologue

In the course of life,

Many things would just come and go like rain,

Hitting the ground and that is it, as if

Penned with joyful cheers,

Carved by hot and bitter tears.

Everyone calls the author a fool;

None his honest message hears.

 

The wind, the blossoms, the moonlight, the snow...

And this Dream of Red Chamber,

That our grief for the lost golden days may continue.

 

Part 2: Reality

Three hundred days and sixty make a year, and therein lurk

Daggers of wind and swords of frost to do their cruel work.

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Part 3: Fly and Fade

Flowers fade and fly, and flying fills the sky,

Their bloom departs, their perfume gone, yet who stands pitying by?

If heaven too had passions, even heaven would grow old,

Man will be at ease with none to ponder.

 

But so long as life goes on and on,

Remaining is choices of none.

If heaven too had passions even heaven would grow old,

The moon will always be round without hatred.

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Part 4: Truth and Fiction

Truth becomes fiction when the fiction is true;

Real becomes not-real when the unreal is real.

 

Part 5: Burial of Flowers

I who can bury flowers like this a laughing stock shall be;

I cannot say in days to come what hands shall bury me.

See how when spring begins to fail each opening flow’ret fades;

So too there is a time of age and death for beauteous maids;

And when the fleeting spring is gone, and days of beauty o’er,

Flowers fall, and lovely maidens die, and both are known no more.