2. The full text is as follows:
On that day, I closed my eyes in the fragrant fog of the temple and suddenly heard the truth in your eulogy.
That January, I shook all the prayer wheels not to cross over, but to touch your fingertips.
That year, I kowtowed to climb the mountain, not to see you, but to stick to your warmth.
At that time, I turned the landscape into a stupa, not to repair the afterlife, but to meet you on the road.
That night, I listened to Sanskrit singing all night, not for enlightenment, but for you?
That January, I turned all the prayer tubes not to cross over, but to touch your fingerprints.
That year, I kowtowed and held dust, not to worship Buddha, but to keep your warmth.
At that time, I crossed hundreds of mountains, not to repair the afterlife, but to meet you on the road.
At that moment, I became immortal, not for longevity, but for your happiness and peace.
On that day, I closed my eyes in the fragrant fog of the temple and suddenly heard the truth in your eulogy.
That January, I shook all the prayer wheels not to cross over, but to touch your fingertips.
That year, I kowtowed to climb the mountain, not to see you, but to stick to your warmth.
At that time, I turned the landscape into a stupa, not to repair the afterlife, but to meet you on the road.
That night, I listened to Brahma sing all night, not for enlightenment, but for you.
That January, I turned all the prayer tubes not to cross over, but to touch your fingerprints.
That year, I kowtowed and held dust, not to worship Buddha, but to keep your warmth.
At that time, I crossed hundreds of mountains, not to repair the afterlife, but to meet you on the road.
At that moment, I became immortal, not for longevity, but for your happiness and peace.
On that day, I closed my eyes in the fragrant fog of the temple and suddenly heard the truth in your eulogy.
That January, I shook all the prayer wheels not to cross over, but to touch your fingertips.
That year, I kowtowed to climb the mountain, not to see you, but to stick to your warmth.
At that time, I turned the landscape into a stupa, not to repair the afterlife, but to meet you on the road.
That night, I listened to Brahma sing all night, not for enlightenment, but for you.
That January, I turned all the prayer tubes not to cross over, but to touch your fingerprints.
That year, I kowtowed and held dust, not to worship Buddha, but to keep your warmth.
At that time, I crossed hundreds of mountains, not to repair the afterlife, but to meet you on the road.
At that moment, I became immortal, not for longevity, but for your happiness and peace.
Extended data:
1, Cangyang Gyatso (1683.03.01706.11.15), the sixth Dalai Lama Menba, legal name.
2. Cangyang Jiacuo is the most representative folk poet in Tibet. He wrote many delicate and sincere poems, the most classic of which is the Tibetan woodcut Love Song of Cangyang Gyatso in Lhasa.
References:
Ina-Baidu Encyclopedia