Since ancient times, who escapes death?
Their names are no longer remembered.
This year within the capital city,
The dead include both old and young.
Dugu was just forty,
His official career was flourishing.
Li San, thirty-nine,
Had a pure reputation at court.
Zhao Chang, over eighty,
Thrice held the general's banner.
In life, indeed, they differed greatly,
In death, they share the same darkness.
Their families weep with love,
Each grief, no different in kind.
Their peers sigh with regret,
Each loss, none heavier or lighter.
Ten-thousand-year turtle or ephemeral fungus, all equal,
One death levels heaven and earth.
Considering this, facing my illness,
Why should my sickness cause alarm?
If I were to die today,
It would be enough to end this life.
Even if I lived to a hundred,
Who knows what would be achieved?
Moreover, I long followed the Buddha,
This body is but a dwelling.
Abandoning that to embrace this,
Why cling to staying or leaving?
The past life is a trail gone by,
The next life is the path ahead.
Just think of walking without cease,
Why worry there is no road to walk?
The dragon sheds its bones but does not die,
The cicada sheds its skin and sings by itself.
Why, as a spirit shedding the body,
Is this path unclear to people?
I offer this to cherished friends,
Send it to my benevolent brothers.
Chanting this leads to broad perspective,
Worldly words—why lend them an ear?