Twelve Buddhist Curses
May your journey head east towards cold;
may you never see the sun or the moon.
May you face a wind of flying knives.
May your heart be so bitter
it will take a thousand years to burn.
May your ashes never be found.
May you lie on a bed of swords.
May the bed you sleep on be your last.
May your skin be stripped in winter,
may you be clad in iron in summer.
May you use your tongue to plow the land.
May your thirst be endless
in a land without water.
May all you quaff turn to molten brass.
May your enemies be small and worthless.
May your quarrels never end.
May you wake in a tank of urine and manure.
May your teeth be sawed in a land of plenty.
May your journey head east towards cold;
may you never see the sun or the moon.
May you face a wind of flying knives.
May your heart be so bitter
it will take a thousand years to burn.
May your ashes never be found.
May you lie on a bed of swords.
May the bed you sleep on be your last.
May your skin be stripped in winter,
may you be clad in iron in summer.
May you use your tongue to plow the land.
May your thirst be endless
in a land without water.
May all you quaff turn to molten brass.
May your enemies be small and worthless.
May your quarrels never end.
May you wake in a tank of urine and manure.
May your teeth be sawed in a land of plenty.
No comments:
Post a Comment