.jpg)
Washing my elderly father’s body
is like washing my own corpse.
Returning home after weeping outside all day long,
taking my elderly father to the communal bathhouse
and washing him thoroughly
is like washing away the tears from my own corpse.
Wiping away the last traces of water from my father’s body
then slipping on a fresh pair of underpants
and respectfully trimming his finger nails
is like cutting the nails of the tears from my corpse.
Today, too, returning home after weeping all day long,
I wash my elderly father’s body.
Then following the evening insects
I hang my lamp on a blade of grass
and lay my corpse down.
.jpg?w=728)
Filial piety echoes in this poem, and an awareness that our parents grow old and die before us, then we will do the same, since mortality is our common destiny in nature, every body will one day be a corpse.