Laudator Temporis Acti

A poem by Ryōkan (1758-1831), tr. Kazuaki Tanahashi:

Impermanent and swift,
transformed in an instant,
a youthful face will not remain.
Black yarn on the head turns into white threads;
the backbone bends like a bow.
Skin wrinkles like waves over a stormy visage;
cicadas inside the ears chirp all night.
Blossoms fly endlessly over the eyes.
Standing up you take a deep long sigh.
You walk on your cane absentmindedly
or ponder pleasures of younger days
accompanied by today's worry.
How pitiful, you who regret your old age!
You are like a branch covered in frost.
Among those who have received life in the three realms,
who can avoid arriving here?
Moment to moment nothing stays,
how long are youthful and mature ages?
The four elements decay day by day;
body and mind dwindle night by night.
Once you lie in sickness,
you don't part from the pillow for a long time.
Even if you keep talking aloud,
what can your talking accomplish?
The six roots have nothing to depend upon
if one breath is cut off.
Your relatives wail into your face.
Your wife and children sadden while rubbing your back.
They call you, but you won't answer.
They cry for you, but you won't know.
Total darkness is the path in the Yellow Spring.
Dazed, you walk alone.

Cicadas and blossoms: tinnitus and floaters?

Three realms: realm of desire, realm of form, realm of formlessness

Four elements: earth, air, fire, water

Six roots: eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, mind

Yellow Spring: world of the dead