Black was my hair
— the color of bees —
& curled at the tips;
with age, it looked like coarse hemp.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words
doesn't change.Fragrant, like a perfumed basket
filled with flowers:
With age it smelled musty,
like animal fur.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words
doesn't change.Thick & lush, like a well-tended grove,
made splendid, the tips elaborate
with comb & pin.
With age, it grew thin
& bare here & there.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words
doesn't change.Adorned with gold & delicate pins,
it was splendid, ornamented with braids.
Now, with age,
that head has gone bald.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words
doesn't change.Curved, as if well-drawn by an artist,
my brows were once splendid.
With age, they droop down in folds.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words
doesn't change.Radiant, brilliant like jewels,
my eyes:
With age, they're no longer splendid.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words
doesn't change.Like a delicate peak, my nose
was splendid in the prime of my youth.
With age, it's like a long pepper.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words
doesn't change.Like bracelets — well-fashioned, well-finished —
my ears were once splendid.
With age, they droop down in folds.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words
doesn't change.Like plaintain buds in their color,
my teeth were once splendid.
With age, they're broken & yellowed.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words
doesn't change.Like that of a cuckoo in the dense jungle,
flitting through deep forest thickets:
sweet was the tone of my voice.
With age, it cracks here & there.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words
doesn't change.Smooth — like a conch shell well-polished —
my neck was once splendid.
With age, it's broken down, bent.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words
doesn't change.Like rounded door-bars — both of them —
my arms were once splendid.
With age, they're like dried up patali trees.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words
doesn't change.Adorned with gold & delicate rings,
my hands were once splendid.
With age, they're like onions & tubers.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words
doesn't change.Swelling, round, firm, & high,
both my breasts were once splendid.
In the drought of old age, they dangle
like empty old water bags.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words
doesn't change.Like a sheet of gold, well-burnished,
my body was splendid.
Now it's covered with very fine wrinkles.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words
doesn't change.Smooth in their lines, like an elephant's trunk,
both my thighs were once splendid.
With age, they're like knotted bamboo.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words
doesn't change.Adorned with gold & delicate anklets,
my calves were once splendid.
With age, they're like sesame sticks.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words
doesn't change.As if they were stuffed with soft cotton,
both my feet were once splendid.
With age, they're shriveled & cracked.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words
doesn't change.Such was this physical heap,
now:
A house with its plaster all fallen off.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words
doesn't change.
thig.13.1 Therigatha
Ambapali
- Translator: Thanissaro Bhikkhu
- Editor: Ayya Kathrin Vimalañāṇī
Ambapālī
My hair was as black as bees,graced with curly tips;
now old, it has become like hemp bark—
the word of the truthful one is confirmed.
Crowned with flowers,
my head was as fragrant as a perfume box;
now old, it smells like dog fur—
the word of the truthful one is confirmed.
My hair was as thick as a well-planted forest,
it shone, parted with brush and pins;
now old, it’s patchy and sparse—
the word of the truthful one is confirmed.
With plaits of black and ribbons of gold,
it was so pretty, adorned with braids;
now old, my head’s gone bald—
the word of the truthful one is confirmed.
My eyebrows used to look so nice,
like crescents painted by an artist;
now old, they droop with wrinkles—
the word of the truthful one is confirmed.
My eyes shone brilliant as gems,
wide and deepest blue;
ruined by age, they shine no more—
the word of the truthful one is confirmed.
My nose was like a perfect peak,
lovely in my bloom of youth;
now old, it’s shriveled like a pepper;
the word of the truthful one is confirmed.
My ear-lobes were so pretty,
like lovingly crafted bracelets;
now old, they droop with wrinkles—
the word of the truthful one is confirmed.
My teeth used to be so pretty,
bright as a jasmine flower;
now old, they’re broken and yellow—
the word of the truthful one is confirmed.
My singing was sweet as a cuckoo
wandering in the forest groves;
now old, it’s patchy and croaking—
the word of the truthful one is confirmed.
My neck used to be so pretty,
like a polished shell of conch;
now old, it’s bowed and bent—
the word of the truthful one is confirmed.
My arms used to be so pretty,
like rounded cross-bars;
now old, they droop like a trumpet-flower tree—
the word of the truthful one is confirmed.
My hands used to be so pretty,
adorned with lovely golden rings;
now old, they’re like red radishes—
the word of the truthful one is confirmed.
My breasts used to be so pretty,
swelling, round, close, and high;
now they droop like water bags—
the word of the truthful one is confirmed.
My body used to be so pretty,
like a polished slab of gold;
now it’s covered with fine wrinkles—
the word of the truthful one is confirmed.
Both my thighs used to be so pretty,
like an elephant’s trunk;
now old, they’re like bamboo—
the word of the truthful one is confirmed.
My calves used to be so pretty,
adorned with cute golden anklets;
now old, they’re like sesame sticks—
the word of the truthful one is confirmed.
Both my feet used to be so pretty,
plump as if with cotton-wool;
now old, they’re cracked and wrinkly—
the word of the truthful one is confirmed.
This bag of bones once was such,
but now it’s withered, home to so much pain;
like a house in decay with plaster crumbling—
the word of the truthful one is confirmed.