最伟大的作品
哥穿着复古西装 拿着手杖 弹着魔法乐章
漫步走在 莎玛丽丹 被岁月 翻新的时光
望不到边界的帝国 用音符筑成的王座
我用琴键穿梭 1920错过的不朽啊 偏执是那马格利特 被我变出的苹果
超现实的是我 还是他原本想画的小丑
不是烟斗的烟斗 脸上的鸽子没有飞走
请你记得 他是个画家 不是 什么调酒达利翘胡是谁给他的思索 弯了汤匙借你灵感不用还我
融化的是墙上时钟还是乳酪 龙虾电话那头你都不回我浪荡是世俗画作里最自由不拘的水墨
花都优雅的双腿是这宇宙笔下的一抹
飘洋过海的乡愁种在一无所有的温柔
寂寞的枝头才能长出 常玉要的花朵小船静静往返 马谛斯的海岸
星空下的夜晚 交给梵谷点燃
梦美的太短暂 孟克桥上呐喊
这世上的热闹 出自孤单花园流淌的阳光 空气摇晃着花香
我请莫内帮个忙 能不能来张自画像
大师眺望着远方 研究色彩的形状
突然回头要我说说我对我自己的印象世代的狂 音乐的王 万物臣服在我乐章
路还在闯 我还在创 指尖的旋律在渴望
世代的狂 音乐的王 我想我不需要画框
它框不住 琴键的速度 我的音符 全部是未来艺术日出在印象的港口来回 光线唤醒了睡着的花叶
草地正为一场小雨欢悦 我们彼此深爱这个世界
停在康桥上的那只蝴蝶 飞往午夜河畔的翡冷翠
遗憾被偶然藏在了诗页 是微笑都透不进的世界巴黎的鳞爪 感伤的文法 要用音乐翻阅
晚风的灯下 旅人的花茶 我换成了咖啡
之后他就 爱上了苦涩这个复杂词汇
因为这才是挥手 向云彩道别的滋味小船静静往返 马谛斯的海岸
星空下的夜晚 交给梵谷点燃
梦美的太短暂 孟克桥上呐喊
这世上的热闹 出自孤单
The Greatest Works of Art
In a vintage suit, holding a cane, I play a magical sonata
I stroll through La Samaritaine, renewed by the passage of time
An empire without limits, a throne paved from music notes
With my piano I travel to the timeless 1920sWith the apple I conjured, Magritte found obsession
Was I surreal, or was it the clown he was going to paint?
Ceci n’est pas une pipe; the dove in his face had not yet flown away
Please remember, he’s a painter, not a cocktailWho gave Dalí and his curled moustache something to think about? I bent the spoon, lent the inspiration, no need to return it
What’s melting, is it cheese or the clock on the wall? You never return my calls on your lobster phoneDecadence is the free-flowing ink wash in a Chinese painting
Elegant crossed legs in the city of flowers are but a stroke of the universe’s brush
Homesickness across the ocean grows in the tenderness of having nothing to your name
The flowers Sanyu wants can only bloom on the loneliest branchesBoats travel quietly along Matisse’s seashore
Let Van Gogh light up this starry night
Beautiful dreams are too brief, Munch screams on the bridge
All the bustle of this world is born from lonelinessIn a garden full of sunshine, the fragrance of flowers fills the air
I ask Monet for help, can he paint me a portrait?
The master gazes into the distance, studying the shapes of colour
Then he suddenly turns and asks me to tell me my impressions of myselfAn era of madness, the king of music, the world is tamed by my symphony
The road is still winding, I’m still creating, the melody at my fingertips is yearning
An era of madness, the king of music, I think I don’t need a picture frame
No frame can capture the speed of the keys, all my music notes are the art of the futureThe sun rises at the impressionists’ harbour, light awakens the slumbering flowers
The grass celebrates a shower of rain, we are both deeply in love with this world
The butterfly that rested at Cambridge flies to Florence along the river at midnight
Regrets are occasionally hidden in poetry, in the world that smiles cannot permeateParis’s scales and claws; melancholy writings; all need music to turn the page
Under the streetlamps I swapped the traveller’s tea with coffee
Afterwards he fell in love with the complexity of bitterness
Because that is the taste of bidding farewell to the clouds at sunsetBoats travel quietly along Matisse’s seashore
Let Van Gogh light up this starry night
Beautiful dreams are too brief, Munch screams on the bridge37
All the bustle of this world is born from loneliness
Submitted by osmanth
