Chapter 11. The Old Age

146. What loughter? Why joy? when everything is constantly burning? covered by darkness, you do not seek light?



147. Look at this mind-created image, a compounded heap of sores, diseased, with many plans, which does not have any permanence or stability.



148. Decayed is this body, a frail nest of diseases. This foul mass breaks up. Indeed, the life ends in death.



149. Those gray bones, thrown away like pumpkins in fall. Seeing them, what love can there be?



150. There is a city made of bones, plastered with flesh and blood, where there are deposited old age, death, conceit and hypocrisy.



151. Beautiful king's chariots wear out. And also the body gets old. But the teaching of the good ones does not get old. The good ones teach it to each other.



152. The person without learning grows old like an ox. His flesh grows; his wisdom does not.



153. Through many rounds of rebirth have I ran, looking for the house-builder, but not finding him. Painful is repeated rebirth.



154. Oh, house-builde, you are seen! You will not build this house again! All your ribs are broken; the roof is destroyed. My mind is dissolute; I have attained the end of all cravings.



155. Those, who have not led the holy life, and have not obtained wealth while young, ponder just like old herons in the lake without fish.



156. Those, who have not led the holy life, and have not obtained wealth while young, lie just like arrows shot from a bow, moaning over the past.

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