Thig 13.1 - Ambapālī Translated by Bhikkhu Sujato Source: https://suttacentral.net/thig13.1/en/sujato License: CC0-1.0 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, graced 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, graced 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, graced 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.