Zi Ming's verses are wondrous and strange,
Even more so is this bizarre song he's made.
I'd gladly ride the green-eared steed with Lu Tong,
Chanting all the way up the Kunlun slope.
I'd have Zhang Xu and his kind, in their cups,
Wield their brushes to paint the jagged peaks.
What need to call on the Old Master,
With two legs astride a camel?
Fate grants me this stubborn ailment,
No art can rid me of this deep-seated woe.
Since Water and Wood took turns in dominance,
My lungs, like waste, are trapped in a net.
And after Lesser Heat comes First Fu and Greater Heat,
Adding fiercer heat and dizzying demons.
Red-hot charcoal balls roll between my bones,
A scorching iron hand rubs over my skin.
Sometimes, within a single room, I feel only boiling fire near,
Unable to tell cauldron from pot.
Holding spoon and chopsticks, my belly swells first,
Wine reaches my throat, my face already flushed.
Green paste and lacquer leaves are of no use,
What can be done with crane-stretch and bear-gaze?
Which of the five viscera can be cleansed, they say?
All hundred bones fear breeding nests of worms.
Hard to escape and climb the crimson sky road,
My dream soul suddenly sails the vast dark sea.
Where the dark sea ends is the Milky Way,
Where someone often plays with loom and shuttle.
After the withered raft left, no more guests came,
Clearly, red cassias pass by in succession.
Fetching fine books to hang on the ox's horn,
Holding the Dipper's handle to swallow the Bright River.
Just swallow the Bright River till my belly's full,
Not going to Dragon Field to pick jade.
Then rein the turtle's head, emerging from the sea,
With rosy clouds and traces on my brow.
Rising, I pass through two willows, walk on green sedge,
This strange song compels me to chant.
Chanting and writing are no trivial matters,
They must set rules for posterity without reproach.
Greatly, writing stems from within,
Returned without regret, thus peaceful and harmonious.
Compare it to classics, aid it with friends,
Refine lectures, clarify debates, polishing each other.
Though your liver is ill, your heart can still teach.
Though my lungs are ill, my heart does not flatter itself.
Day and night I ponder, it's over, I'm old,
Much of what I learned is lost.