My hair was as black as bees, “Kāḷakā bhamaravaṇṇasādisā, graced with curly tips; Vellitaggā mama muddhajā ahuṁ; now old, it has become like hemp bark—Te jarāya sāṇavākasādisā, the word of the truthful one is confirmed. Saccavādivacanaṁ anaññathā.

Crowned with flowers, Vāsitova surabhī karaṇḍako, my head was as fragrant as a perfume box; Pupphapūra mama uttamaṅgajo; now old, it smells like dog fur—Taṁ jarāyatha salomagandhikaṁ, the word of the truthful one is confirmed. Saccavādivacanaṁ anaññathā.

My hair was as thick as a well-planted forest, Kānanaṁva sahitaṁ suropitaṁ, it shone, parted with brush and pins; Kocchasūcivicitaggasobhitaṁ; now old, it’s patchy and sparse—Taṁ jarāya viralaṁ tahiṁ tahiṁ, the word of the truthful one is confirmed. Saccavādivacanaṁ anaññathā.

With plaits of black and ribbons of gold, Kaṇhakhandhakasuvaṇṇamaṇḍitaṁ, it was so pretty, adorned with braids; Sobhate suveṇīhilaṅkataṁ; now old, my head’s gone bald—Taṁ jarāya khalitaṁ siraṁ kataṁ, the word of the truthful one is confirmed. Saccavādivacanaṁ anaññathā.

My eyebrows used to look so nice, Cittakārasukatāva lekhikā, like crescents painted by an artist; Sobhare su bhamukā pure mama; now old, they droop with wrinkles—Tā jarāya valibhippalambitā, the word of the truthful one is confirmed. Saccavādivacanaṁ anaññathā.

My eyes shone brilliant as gems, Bhassarā surucirā yathā maṇī, wide and indigo; Nettahesumabhinīlamāyatā; ruined by age, they shine no more—Te jarāyabhihatā na sobhare, the word of the truthful one is confirmed. Saccavādivacanaṁ anaññathā.

My nose was like a perfect peak, Saṇhatuṅgasadisī ca nāsikā, lovely in my bloom of youth; Sobhate su abhiyobbanaṁ pati; now old, it’s shriveled like a pepper; Sā jarāya upakūlitā viya, the word of the truthful one is confirmed. Saccavādivacanaṁ anaññathā.

My ear-lobes were so pretty, Kaṅkaṇaṁva sukataṁ suniṭṭhitaṁ, like lovingly crafted bracelets; Sobhare su mama kaṇṇapāḷiyo; now old, they droop with wrinkles—Tā jarāya valibhippalambitā, the word of the truthful one is confirmed. Saccavādivacanaṁ anaññathā.

My teeth used to be so pretty, Pattalīmakulavaṇṇasādisā, bright as a jasmine flower; Sobhare su dantā pure mama; now old, they’re broken and yellow—Te jarāya khaṇḍitā cāsitā, the word of the truthful one is confirmed. Saccavādivacanaṁ anaññathā.

My singing was sweet as a cuckoo Kānanamhi vanasaṇḍacārinī, wandering in the forest groves; Kokilāva madhuraṁ nikūjihaṁ; now old, it’s patchy and croaking—Taṁ jarāya khalitaṁ tahiṁ tahiṁ, the word of the truthful one is confirmed. Saccavādivacanaṁ anaññathā.

My neck used to be so pretty, Saṇhakamburiva suppamajjitā, like a polished shell of conch; Sobhate su gīvā pure mama; now old, it’s bowed and bent—Sā jarāya bhaggā vināmitā, the word of the truthful one is confirmed. Saccavādivacanaṁ anaññathā.

My arms used to be so pretty, Vaṭṭapalighasadisopamā ubho, like rounded cross-bars; Sobhare su bāhā pure mama; with age, they wrinkle and sag as a patala tree—Tā jarāya yatha pāṭalibbalitā, the word of the truthful one is confirmed. Saccavādivacanaṁ anaññathā.

My hands used to be so pretty, Saṇhamuddikasuvaṇṇamaṇḍitā, adorned with lovely golden rings; Sobhare su hatthā pure mama; now old, they’re like red radishes—Te jarāya yathā mūlamūlikā, the word of the truthful one is confirmed. Saccavādivacanaṁ anaññathā.

My breasts were both once so pretty, Pīnavaṭṭasahituggatā ubho, swelling, round, close-set, and perky; Sobhare su thanakā pure mama; now they droop like water bags—Thevikīva lambanti nodakā, the word of the truthful one is confirmed. Saccavādivacanaṁ anaññathā.

My body used to be so pretty, Kañcanassa phalakaṁva sammaṭṭhaṁ, like a polished slab of lustrous gold; Sobhate su kāyo pure mama; now it’s covered with delicate wrinkles—So valīhi sukhumāhi otato, the word of the truthful one is confirmed. Saccavādivacanaṁ anaññathā.

Both my thighs used to be so pretty, Nāgabhogasadisopamā ubho, like an elephant’s trunk; Sobhare su ūrū pure mama; now old, they’re like bamboo—Te jarāya yathā veḷunāḷiyo, the word of the truthful one is confirmed. Saccavādivacanaṁ anaññathā.

My calves used to be so pretty, Saṇhanūpurasuvaṇṇamaṇḍitā, adorned with cute golden anklets; Sobhare su jaṅghā pure mama; now old, they’re like sesame sticks—Tā jarāya tiladaṇḍakāriva, the word of the truthful one is confirmed. Saccavādivacanaṁ anaññathā.

Both my feet used to be so pretty, Tūlapuṇṇasadisopamā ubho, plump as if with cotton-wool; Sobhare su pādā pure mama; now old, they’re cracked and wrinkly—Te jarāya phuṭitā valīmatā, the word of the truthful one is confirmed. Saccavādivacanaṁ anaññathā.

This bag of bones once was such, Ediso ahu ayaṁ samussayo, but now it’s withered, home to so much pain; Jajjaro bahudukkhānamālayo; like a house in decay with plaster crumbling—Sopalepapatito jarāgharo, the word of the truthful one is confirmed. Saccavādivacanaṁ anaññathā”.

… Ambapālī therī ….