What is the full text of a poem by Cangyang Jiacuo, "At that moment, I soared to immortality, not for longevity, but for your peace and joy"?

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.

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.

The author introduces:

In the 22nd year of Kangxi (1683), Cangyang Gyatso was born into a serf family in Wujianlin Village, Xiayusong District, Yunala Mountain, southern Tibet. His father is Tashi Tenzin and his mother is Tsewang Ram. This family has believed in Ma Ning Buddhism for generations. In the thirty-sixth year of Kangxi (1697), Bati Sanjay Gyatso, the then Regent of Tibet, was recognized as the reincarnation of the Fifth Dalai Lama. In the same year, under the auspices of Sanjay Gyatso, a ceremony was held in Potala Palace. It was abolished in the forty-fourth year of Kangxi (1705), and it is said that it died in the forty-fifth year of Kangxi (1706).

Cangyang Jiacuo is the most representative folk song poet in Tibet. He wrote many delicate and sincere poems, the most classic of which is the Tibetan woodcut version of Cangyang Jiacuo's Love Song of Lhasa.