11. Old Age (Jarāvagga)

Ko nu hāso kimānando, niccaṁ pajjalite sati; Andhakārena onaddhā, padīpaṁ na gavesatha.

What is joy, what is laughter, when the flames are ever burning? Swathed in darkness, would you not seek a light?

Passa cittakataṁ bimbaṁ, arukāyaṁ samussitaṁ; Āturaṁ bahusaṅkappaṁ, yassa natthi dhuvaṁ ṭhiti.

See this fancy puppet, a body built of sores, diseased, obsessed over, in which nothing lasts at all.

Parijiṇṇamidaṁ rūpaṁ, roganīḷaṁ pabhaṅguraṁ; Bhijjati pūtisandeho, maraṇantañhi jīvitaṁ.

This body is decrepit and frail, a nest of disease. This foul carcass falls apart, for life ends in death.

Yānimāni apatthāni, alābūneva sārade; Kāpotakāni aṭṭhīni, tāni disvāna kā rati.

These dove-grey bones are tossed away like dried gourds in the autumn— what joy is there in such a sight?

Aṭṭhīnaṁ nagaraṁ kataṁ, maṁsalohitalepanaṁ; Yattha jarā ca maccu ca, māno makkho ca ohito.

In this city built of bones, plastered with flesh and blood, old age and death are stashed away, along with conceit and contempt.

Jīranti ve rājarathā sucittā, Atho sarīrampi jaraṁ upeti; Satañca dhammo na jaraṁ upeti, Santo have sabbhi pavedayanti.

Fancy chariots of kings wear out, and even this body gets old. But the truth of the good never gets old— so the good proclaim to the good.

Appassutāyaṁ puriso, balībaddhova jīrati; Maṁsāni tassa vaḍḍhanti, paññā tassa na vaḍḍhati.

A person of little learning ages like an ox— their flesh grows, but not their wisdom.

Anekajātisaṁsāraṁ, sandhāvissaṁ anibbisaṁ; Gahakāraṁ gavesanto, dukkhā jāti punappunaṁ.

Transmigrating through countless rebirths, I’ve journeyed without reward, searching for the house-builder; painful is birth again and again.

Gahakāraka diṭṭhosi, puna gehaṁ na kāhasi; Sabbā te phāsukā bhaggā, gahakūṭaṁ visaṅkhataṁ; Visaṅkhāragataṁ cittaṁ, taṇhānaṁ khayamajjhagā.

I’ve seen you, house-builder! You won’t build a house again! Your rafters are all broken, your roof-peak demolished. The mind, set on demolition, has reached the end of cravings.

Acaritvā brahmacariyaṁ, aladdhā yobbane dhanaṁ; Jiṇṇakoñcāva jhāyanti, khīṇamaccheva pallale.

When young they spurned the spiritual path and failed to earn any wealth. Now they brood like old cranes in a pond bereft of fish.

Acaritvā brahmacariyaṁ, aladdhā yobbane dhanaṁ; Senti cāpātikhīṇāva, purāṇāni anutthunaṁ.

When young they spurned the spiritual path and failed to earn any wealth. Now they lie like spent arrows, bemoaning over things past.