This mortal life, for those who have some leisure,
Can be a world of titillating joy,
That is, if pain does not our lives annoy,
And so can we take refuge in much pleasure.
But all is fleeting, taken in full measure,
We can't live ever as a girl or boy,
Eventually signs of age alloy
Our joy with unremitting karmic censure.
When this life comes to its certain end,
All memory of pleasure nigh forgotten,
Our very flesh decays, becoming rotten:
We fight to keep from where we sure are destined.
So while I relish joys this life provides,
I do as well endure it on all sides.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem