Back to The Dhammapada
Chapter Eleven -- Old Age
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When this world is ever ablaze, why
this laughter, why this jubilation? Shrouded in
darkness, why don't you seek the light?
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Behold this body, a painted image,
a mass of heaped up sores--infirm, full of
hankering, with nothing lasting or stable.
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Fully worn out is this body, a nest of
disease, and fragile. This foul mass breaks up,
for death is the end of life.
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These dove-coloured bones are like
gourds that lie scattered about in autumn; having
seen them, how can one seek delight?
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The body is a city built of bones, plastered
with flesh and blood, containing within decay and
death, pride and jealousy.
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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.
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Persons of little learning grow old like
a bull: they grow only in bulk, but their wisdom
does not grow.
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Through many a birth in samsara have I
wandered in vain, seeking the builder of this
house (of life). Repeated birth is indeed suffering!
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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.
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Those who in youth have not led the
holy life, or have failed to acquire wealth, languish
like old cranes in a pond without fish.
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Those who in youth have not led the
holy life, or have failed to acquire wealth, lie
like worn-out arrows (shot from) a bow, sighing
over the past.