My Heart of Darkness.

where the thin line between illusion and reality becomes blurred by the very hand that draws it; where the search for answers lead to more questions; where you have to be broken to be built; where nothing sees miracles but misery. Welcome to my Heart of Darkness.

Monday, March 13, 2006

hey i know i haven't been blogging much these days, certainly not as much as i would have liked to. . . but i stumbled accross this beautiful poem as i was doing some readings on Gen Percicval, the British commander who surrendered to the Japanese on 15 Feb 1942, and i felt like sharing it with you guys. for the 3 years that he was in Japanese capitivity, this was the one poem that Percival kept in his pocket, the one fragment of sanity he clung on to. . . and if you read it closely, i don't think you'll find it hard to understand why. . .



"If" by Rudyard Kipling, "Rewards and Fairies", 1909.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:


If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:


If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"


If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!

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