Decay (DHP146-156)

Why laughter, why joy,
While ever-aflame?
Covered in darkness,
Do you not seek the light?

Look at this beautified image, with many plans—
A diseased mass of sores that has no permanence.

This body, a nest of illness that is wasted away,
This foul mass breaks up,
For truly life ends in death.

On seeing these gray bones,
Scattered like gourds in autumn—
What is the fondness?

It (the body) is a city made of bones, plastered in
flesh and blood,
Where old age, death, conceit, and hypocrisy are
stored.

Even the king’s chariots, so splendidly adorned,
decay.
Alas, the body too decays.
But the Dhamma of the good does not age;
Indeed, the good declare it to one another.

He of little learning grows old like an ox;
His bulk increases, but his wisdom does not.

Through many rounds of birth have I run,
Seeking and not finding the builder of this house.
Painful is birth, again and again.

House-builder you are seen! You will build no
more!
Your rafters are broken, the roof destroyed.
The mind, having gone to the Unconditioned,
Has attained the destruction of craving.

Not having lived a holy life,
Not having obtained wealth in youth,
They brood,
Like old herons in a lake without fish.

Not having lived a holy life,
Not having attained wealth in their youth,
They lie like arrows shot from a bow,
Lamenting the past.

© Peter Feldmeier, 2013.

First published in Dhammapada — The Way of Truth : A Fresh Translation and Commentary on Buddhism’s Most Beloved Text by Buddhist Publication Society.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.

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