Black 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 basket
filled 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 elaborate
with 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 nose
was 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.