XI.JARAVAGGA. OLD AGE
146. What is laughter, what is joy, when the world is ever burning? Shrouded by darkness, do you not seek a light?
147. Behold this beautiful body, a mass of sores, a heaped-up (lump), diseased, much thought of, in which nothing lasts, nothing persists.
148. Thoroughly worn out is this body, a nest of diseases, perishable; this putrid mass breaks up; truly, life ends in death.
149. Like gourds cast away in autumn are these dove-hued bones. What pleasure is there in looking at them?
150. Of bones is (this) city made, plastered with flesh and blood. Herein are stored decay, death, conceit, and detraction.
152. The man of little learning grows old like the bull: his muscles grow, his wisdom grows not.
153, 154. Through many a birth I wandered in samsăra. Seeking but not finding, the builder of the house. Sorrowful is birth again and again. O House-builder! Thou art seen. Thou shalt build no house again. All thy rafters are broken, thy ridge-pole is shattered. My mind has attained the unconditioned, achieved is the end of cravings.
155. They who have not led the Holy Life, who in youth have not acquired wealth, pine away like old herons on a pond without fish.
156. They who have not led the Holy Life, who in youth have not acquired wealth, lie like worn-out bows, sighing after the past.