-
When this world is ever ablaze,
why this laughter,
why this jubilation?
Shrouded in darkness,
will you not see the light?
-
Behold this body — a painted image,
a mass of heaped up sores,
infirm, full of hankering —
of which nothing is lasting or stable!
-
Fully worn out is this body,
a nest of disease, and fragile.
This foul mass breaks up,
for death is the end of life.
-
These dove-colored bones are like gourds
that lie scattered about in autumn.
Having seen them, how can one seek delight?
-
This city (body) is built of bones,
plastered with flesh and blood;
within are decay and death,
pride and jealousy.
-
Even gorgeous royal chariots wear out,
and indeed this body too wears out.
But the Dhamma of the Good does not age;
thus the Good make it known to the good.
-
The man of little learning
grows old like a bull.
He grows only in bulk,
but, his wisdom does not grow.
-
Through many a birth in samsara
have I wandered in vain,
seeking the builder of this house (of life).
Repeated birth is indeed suffering!
-
O house-builder, you are seen!
You will not build this house again.
For your rafters are broken
and your ridgepole shattered.
My mind has reached the Unconditioned;
I have attained the destruction of craving.
-
Those who in youth have not led the holy life,
or have failed to acquire wealth,
languish like old cranes in the pond without fish.
-
Those who in youth have not lead the holy life,
or have failed to acquire wealth,
lie sighing over the past,
like worn out arrows (shot from) a bow.