According to research, this is an ancient Indian opera translated into Tibetan. Nobody knows who the original author is, and considering it’s around seven hundred years old, doubt anyone will find out now.
Basically a sweet ode about a mother realizing she had to let her son grow up and conquer the world. Appropriate for upcoming graduation and onward to college.
The Queen wept but thought: It is not appropriate to show such grief; he must go on this long journey. So she wiped away her tears.
My dearest child, now let me speak not to you but for you.
To the beings in the boundless ocean of space surrounding us,
To the conquering Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, the guardians
Of all directions, please listen to my words:
This son of mine is leaving; return him with his present virtue
And in his body. May he be spared acute fatigue as he crosses
Pass and plain; when he lives in the hill Hashang may it become
Palatial; when he eats what trees and plants can give
May he taste a royal nectar; in his thirst may his water become
Forever milk; when he dresses in leaves and sleeps on moss
May he walk in the god’s five-color cloth and lie on silk.
When the wild beasts roar may he hear the music of mantra;
When the rivers roar in their beds of rock, let the sound be
Om Mani Padme Hung; may the daughters of the gods spare him
From the narrow valleys’ heat; and on frightfulness mountain
May all the Buddhas be his companions; when his body burns
With fever, may doctors, like miracles, come with medicine.
Wherever he may live, may he live in delight, may his doings
And his thoughts spread like the wish-fulfilling leaves.
May the two of us soon meet.