146

When this world is ever ablaze, why this laughter, why this jubilation? Shrouded in darkness, why don't you seek the light? Behold this body, a painted image, a mass of heaped up sores--infirm, full of hankering, with nothing lasting or stable.

147

Fully worn out is this body, a nest of disease, and fragile. This foul mass breaks up, for death is the end of life.

148

These dove-coloured bones are like gourds that lie scattered about in autumn; having seen them, how can one seek delight? The body is a city built of bones, plastered with flesh and blood, containing within decay and death, pride and jealousy.

149

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.

150

Persons of little learning grow old like a bull: they grow only in bulk, but their wisdom does not grow.

151

Through many a birth in samsara have I wandered in vain, seeking the builder of this house (of life). Repeated birth is indeed suffering! 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.

152

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.

153

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.