A Tale of Death

Fate cut the thread of a living man's life, and another tore his collar in grief at his death. A sharp-witted observer said this, when the crying and wailing reached his ears: If the dead man could raise a hand against you, he would tear his own shroud in protest. He would say: don't twist yourself so in sorrow and pain over me; I only set out a day or two before you. Have you forgotten your own death, that mine has left you weak and wounded? The truth is, whoever throws earth on a corpse should burn not for the dead but for himself. Why moan over losing a child who went into the ground? He came pure and left pure. You too came pure, so stay watchful and pure; it is a disgrace to go to the grave unclean. Tie down this bird now, not later when the thread has slipped from your hands. You sat in many another person's place; someone else will sit in yours. Whether you are a champion or a swordsman, you will carry off nothing but a shroud. Even if the wild ass snaps its snare, once it is trapped in the sand its feet are bound. Your strength of arm lasts only as long as your foot has not sunk into the sand of the grave. Don't set your heart on this ancient dwelling, for the dome will not keep even a walnut resting on it. Since yesterday is gone and tomorrow is not yet yours, reckon only with this one breath you have.