Verses of the Senior Nuns 13.1

The Book of the Twenties

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 indigo;

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;

with age, they wrinkle and sag as a patala 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 were both once so pretty,

swelling, round, close-set, and perky;

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 lustrous gold;

now it’s covered with delicate 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.