11. Old AgeJarāvagga

What is joy, what is laughter,Ko nu hāso kimānando, when the flames are ever burning?niccaṁ pajjalite sati; Swathed in darkness,Andhakārena onaddhā, would you not seek a light?padīpaṁ na gavesatha.

See this fancy puppet,Passa cittakataṁ bimbaṁ, a body built of sores,arukāyaṁ samussitaṁ; diseased, obsessed over,Āturaṁ bahusaṅkappaṁ, in which nothing lasts at all.yassa natthi dhuvaṁ ṭhiti.

This body is decrepit and frail,Parijiṇṇamidaṁ rūpaṁ, a nest of disease.roganīḷaṁ pabhaṅguraṁ; This foul carcass falls apart,Bhijjati pūtisandeho, for life ends in death.maraṇantañhi jīvitaṁ.

These dove-grey bonesYānimāni apatthāni, are tossed away likealābūneva sārade; dried gourds in the autumn—Kāpotakāni aṭṭhīni, what joy is there in such a sight?tāni disvāna kā rati.

In this city built of bones,Aṭṭhīnaṁ nagaraṁ kataṁ, plastered with flesh and blood,maṁsalohitalepanaṁ; old age and death are stashed away,Yattha jarā ca maccu ca, along with conceit and contempt.māno makkho ca ohito.

Fancy chariots of kings wear out,Jīranti ve rājarathā sucittā, and even this body gets old.Atho sarīrampi jaraṁ upeti; But the truth of the good never gets old—Satañca dhammo na jaraṁ upeti, so the good proclaim to the good.Santo have sabbhi pavedayanti.

A person of little learningAppassutāyaṁ puriso, ages like an ox—balībaddhova jīrati; their flesh grows,Maṁsāni tassa vaḍḍhanti, but not their wisdom.paññā tassa na vaḍḍhati.

Transmigrating through countless rebirths,Anekajātisaṁsāraṁ, I’ve journeyed without reward,sandhāvissaṁ anibbisaṁ; searching for the house-builder;Gahakāraṁ gavesanto, painful is birth again and again.dukkhā jāti punappunaṁ.

When young they spurned the spiritual pathAcaritvā brahmacariyaṁ, and failed to earn any wealth.aladdhā yobbane dhanaṁ; Now they brood like old cranesJiṇṇakoñcāva jhāyanti, in a pond bereft of fish.khīṇamaccheva pallale.