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.