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  T I T L E (1) :

What this laughter, what this joy
When the world is ever on fire?
Shrouded all about by darkness,
Will you not then look for light?

  T I T L E (2) :

Behold this beautiful body,
A mass of sores, a bone-gathering,
Diseased and full of hankerings,
With no lasting, no persisting.

  T I T L E (3) :

Thoroughly worn out is this body,
A net of diseases and very frail.
This heap of corruption breaks to pieces.
For life indeed ends in death.

  T I T L E (4) :

As gourds are cast away in autumn,
So are these dove-hued bones.
What pleasure is there found
For one who looks at them?

  T I T L E (5) :

Of bones is this city made,
Plastered with flesh and blood.
Herein dwell decay and death,
Pride and detraction.

  T I T L E (6) :

Splendid royal chariots wear away,
The body too comes to old age.
But the good's teaching knows not decay.
Indeed, the good tech the good in this way.

  T I T L E (7) :

Just as the ox grows old,
So ages he of little learning,
His flesh increases,
His wisdom is waning.

  T I T L E (8) :

Through many a birth
I wandered in Samsara,
Seeking but not finding the Housebuilder,
Painful is birth ever again and again.

  T I T L E (9) :

O Housebuilder, you have been seen,
You shall not build the house again.
Your rafters have been broken,
Your ridge-pole demolished too.
My mind has now attained the Unconditioned,
And reached the end of all craving.

  T I T L E (10) :

Having led neither a good life,
Nor acquired riches while young,
They pine away as aged herons
Around a fishless pond.

  T I T L E (11) :

Having led neither a good life,
Nor acquired riches while young,
They lie about like broken bows,
Sighing about the past.


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