Listen, noble one, to the nature of youth and the snare of desire, as spoken in the sacred verses. The wise do not honor a young person who is consumed by the swift thirst of longing; just as dry, worthless grass is of no value, so too is such a youth disregarded by the good. For youth, ever restless, is yoked to the ruin of one blinded by pride and adorned with the pearls of many faults, like a mighty elephant weighed down by arrogance. In the mind, youth becomes a fresh forest, giving rise to the trees of anger and sorrow, their roots sunk deep, bearing the serpents of faults. Youth is like a lotus crowded with the filaments of pleasure, its petals woven of false imaginings, swarming with the bees of anxious thoughts. It is the abode for the birds of affliction and disease, which wander along the banks of the heart’s lake, fluttering with the wings of action and inaction. When youth reaches fullness, it is an ocean unconcerned with boundaries, its surface tossed by the waves of countless inert and playful ones. The wind of youth, uneven yet skilled, scatters the dust of passion over every leaf of virtue. Its harsh sands rise to the highest peak, making the face pale and causing distress and agitation. The exuberance of youth in men awakens a multitude of faults, cuts down the garland of virtues, and becomes the very splendor of misdeeds. The moon of youth binds the restless bee of the mind with the dust of the body’s lotus, deluding the person. The delightful creeper of youth springs from the mound of the body and, having reached its height, intoxicates the bee of the mind attached to it. The mirage of young women, arising from the heat of the body’s wind, sends the deer of the mind running, only to fall into dangerous ravines. The radiance of youth, like moonlight in the night of the body, is the mane of the lion called mind, a wave on the ocean of life—yet, this young woman no longer pleases me. For but a few days, youth flourishes in the wilderness of the body; do not place your trust in this autumn of youth. Swiftly does the bird of youth fly away from the body, just as the wish-fulfilling gem slips from the hand of one with little fortune. Whenever youth reaches its highest peak, desires surge forth abundantly, but only to bring about destruction. As long as the night of youth endures, the goblins of passion and aversion continue their dance; all this does not end until youth itself sets. In this pitiable youth, filled with many duties and vanishing in a moment, show compassion, as you would for a dying child. The man who, out of delusion, rejoices in fleeting youth, utterly infatuated, is regarded as a human beast. He who desires youth, intoxicated by pride, delusion, and arrogance, that foolish one soon meets with regret. Those are the righteous ones, those are the great souls, those alone are the true men on earth, who have easily crossed over the peril of youth, O noble one. The ocean, with its splendid shoals of mighty fish, is easily crossed; but the ocean of ruined youth, agitated with waves of faults, is not. Adorned with humility, a refuge for noble people, radiant with compassion, endowed with virtues—such excellent youth is rare in this world, like a forest in the sky. Now, consider the nature of beauty in women. What beauty is there in a woman, whose body is but a puppet of flesh, whose limbs move by mechanism, and whose frame is full of knots of sinew and bone? If you separate skin, flesh, blood, vapor, and tears from the eye, and then observe it, what charm remains? Why are you deluded in vain? Here is hair, there is blood—such is the body of a woman. What can a person of broad mind do with this contemptible thing? The limbs that are repeatedly adorned with clothes and perfumes are ultimately devoured by flesh-eating creatures in all bodies. The very breast, on which pearls shine with the splendor of a necklace—like the waves of the Ganges gleaming on the slopes of Mount Meru—will, in time, be devoured by dogs in the cremation ground, like a small lump taken by the blind. Just as the limbs of a calf in the forest are smeared with blood and flesh, so too are the limbs of a woman; what is there to be gained from them? The apparent charm of a woman is merely imagined; even this does not truly exist, O sage, for delusion is the sole cause. What difference is there between a woman, who gives abundant delight preceded by intoxication, and liquor, which is also unstable? Those whose minds are absorbed in the charms of women, O sage, do not attain awakening, even with long efforts at restraint. Women, adorned with hair and kohl, are always sharp by nature; like flames of the fire of misdeeds, they burn men as grass. Those are to be revered, those are the great souls, those alone are men on earth, who have easily crossed the peril of youth, O noble one. Even from afar, even if they seem delightful, women are both wood for the fires of hell—beautiful, yet harsh and dreadful. Her eyes may shine like stars through the scattered darkness of her hair; her face may be a full moon, and her smile a cluster of blooming lotuses. Playful yet harsh, she brings about the destruction of endeavors; she is a woman of long nights, supremely enchanting to the mind. Sweet as flowers and delightful, her tender hands are like new leaves; her eyebrows curve like bees, and she bears breasts like clusters of blossoms. Her limbs are pale as flower filaments, intent on the destruction of men; this beloved, a deadly vine, brings supreme helplessness. Such is the nature of youth and desire, and such is the snare in which the unwary are caught.