Samadhi Posted January 12, 2008 Report Share Posted January 12, 2008 Ambapali SuttaBlack 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 basketfilled 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 elaboratewith 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 nosewas 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 Quote Link to comment
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