A Tale of Old Age

An old man came to the doctor, groaning, so close to death. He said: place your hand on my pulse, wise one, for my feet can no longer lift from the ground. This body of mine, lying here, is like a man sunk deep in mud. Go, said the doctor, let go of this world, for your feet will only rise from that mud on Judgment Day. Don't look for youthful joy in the old: flowing water never returns to the stream. If you kicked up your heels in youth, in old age keep your wits and good sense about you. Once your life has passed beyond forty, don't flail your arms and legs, the water is already over your head. Joy began to flee from me the moment my evening began to turn to dawn. It is time to drive desire out of the mind, for the season of chasing pleasure is over. How can fresh greenery gladden my heart when the grass is soon to sprout from my own grave? Amusing ourselves in whim and desire, we walked over the dust of many who came before. And those still hidden in the unseen will come and walk over our dust in turn. What a pity that the season of youth is gone, spent on play and idle pleasure. What a pity for that soul-nourishing time that swept past us like a flash of Yemeni lightning. Obsessed with what I would wear and what I would eat, I never made time to care for my faith. What a pity, we busied ourselves with the worthless, strayed from the truth, and lived heedless. How well the teacher put it to the child: we got nothing done, and life slipped away.