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Saturday, December 10, 2011

Poem

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
"

— William Ernest Henley, Invictus

1 comment:

  1. Cᴀʟʟ Gɪʀʟs ɪɴ Lᴀʜᴏʀᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴛᴏ sᴇʀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛʟʏ. ᴀᴛ Esᴄᴏʀᴛs in Pᴀᴋɪsᴛᴀɴ, ʏᴏᴜ’ʟʟ ғɪɴᴅ ᴛʀᴇᴍᴇɴᴅᴏᴜs, ᴀsᴛᴏɴɪsʜɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇxᴛʀᴀᴏʀᴅɪɴᴀʀʏ ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛɪғᴜʟ ᴄᴀʟʟ ɢɪʀʟs, ᴊᴜsᴛ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴀᴛ ᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴀʟʟ ɢɪʀʟs ɢᴀʟʟᴇʀʏ ᴛᴏ ғɪɴᴅ ʙᴇsᴛ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇ. Oɴᴇ ᴄᴀʟʟ ᴄᴀɴ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛs ᴄʜᴇᴇʀɪɴɢ, ᴡᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ᴄᴀʟʟ ᴀᴡᴀʏ ғʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪᴛʜ Esᴄᴏʀᴛs in Lahore.

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