The Buddha spoke of hateful eight
Suff'rings bound to us by fate
By virtue sole that we are born:
The awful eight that all men scorn.
Birth and sickness, age and death
Would be enough, but four are left:
Like distance from the ones you love,
And closeness to those cursed above.
Would be enough, but four are left:
Like distance from the ones you love,
And closeness to those cursed above.
Next, not getting what's desired,
Sparks bitter, burning, blinding ire,
Reverts adults to toddler days
With childish tantrums then displayed.
Reverts adults to toddler days
With childish tantrums then displayed.
The last one may be too abstract:
Five aggregates which root they lack
Awash and drown the core of One
Prevent returning where we're from.
Five aggregates which root they lack
Awash and drown the core of One
Prevent returning where we're from.
The Buddha spoke of hateful eight
Suff'rings bound to us by fate
And one who dares to seek release
May find the birthless way relief.
Suff'rings bound to us by fate
And one who dares to seek release
May find the birthless way relief.
No comments:
Post a Comment