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146. Oh, what laughter and why joy,
When constantly aflame?
In darkness enveloped,
You do not seek the lamp.
147. Oh, see this beautified image;
A mass of sores erected.
Full of illness, highly fancied,
Permanence it has not – or constancy.
148. Quite wasted away is this form,
A next for disease, perishable.
This putrid accumulation breaks up.
For life has its end in death.
149. Like these gourds
Discarded in autumn,
Are grey-hued bones.
Having seen them, what delight?
150. Of bones the city is made,
Plastered with flesh and blood,
Where decay and death are deposited,
And pride and ingratitude.
151. Even well-decked royal chariots wear away;
And the body too falls into decay.
But the dhamma of the good ones goes not to decay,
For the good speak [of it] with the good.
152. This unlearned person
Grows up like an ox.
His bulk increases,
His wisdom increases not.
153. I ran through samsara, with its many births,
Searching for, but not finding, the house-builder.
Misery is birth again and again.
154. House-builder, you are seen!
The house you shall not build again!
Broken are your rafters, all,
Your roof beam destroyed.
Freedom from the samkharas has the mind attained.
To the end of cravings has it come.
155. Not having lived the higher life,
Nor having acquired wealth in youth,
They wither away like old herons
In a lake without fish.
156. Not having lived the higher life,
Nor having acquired wealth in youth.
Like [arrows] discharged from a bow they lie
Brooding over the things of yore.