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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 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!
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 ******, 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.
Swept away by the shadow of impulses
In the darkness of dreams
You make me break all my rules
 Aug 2015 Derrick Feinman
Won’t the real Charlie please stand up
And put one of those pencils in each hand up

Je suis Charlie too, but Charlie bit me
And for that they rip me
They want to get rid of me

But I’m not them
And they’re not us
But we’re all one
So don’t count up

Put those hands down
We don’t need to see another case of Michael Brown
Yes, protest
But protest with peace
And take the jobs of those you wish you could leash

Give emotions rest
Love is the best defense
 Jul 2015 Derrick Feinman
This sad scent on my fingers reminds me of the two kids I saw on the bridge. They were supposed to be selling peanuts and crackers, but they were playing with it instead. It reminded me of the photograph of a child ******* with a shabby barbie left on the ground. How cruel the world is. How come the government let this to happen? This must be stopped from happening. We must rise. Revolt. Unite. Yeah. Rise. Revolt. Unite.

"If there is not justice for the people, let there be no peace for the government." ~Emiliano Zapata

Lol no just kidding. Who cares about it. This sad scent on my fingers just reminds me of

What a downfall, I know.
It is my theory
that we are all connected.
From the thread around your finger
to the ribbon on her wrist
and the rope tightened on my neck.
Every action has a consequence,
because when you pull on the string;
*something unravels.
A soldier, on the verge of giving up
Once proud, arrogant, and war ready
Now torn, battered, and stuck
His aim no longer steady
And his voice no longer crisp
He was once a proud man!
But now, he feels as if he's only a wisp.

The war had taken its toll
The soldier had grown weary
he is no longer whole
And his eyes had become teary

He doesn't want to fight
It is a war he cannot win
The man who was once a soldier
Had now lost his thick skin

The woman he had loved
no longer feels the same
The war is over
And another soldier is left in shame
The kind of tired even a coma could not fix
Tired of watching my reflection blink
Waking up very single morning
Tired of being in the same old place

Where nothing ever changes
And your life feels scripted
Tired of waiting
My life is wasting
Come forward Ramadan
I await your arrival
The hearts are ill
And they need to be cured

Come and spread your joy
Of double rewards
As heavens doors open
And prayers are answered

Show me all I have to be thankful for
And help me think of the needy
Those who go without food or water for days
And yet still how my Lord provides

Come and show me
When Satan is locked away
Am I being tempted
Or are these sins force of habit

Ramadan come
And remind us of our purpose
Surround us with a humble atmosphere
Where brothers and sisters unite

Dawn till dusk
I will not simply starve
But be on my best behaviour
No foul language or thinking the worst of someone

I will join the congregation
At each and every prayer
Speak kindly
And spend more time with my family

In the month of God's mercy
I will try my best to please
Become a better person
And carry through these deeds
Ramadan: An entire month of fasting, without any food or water from dawn till dusk. The aim is not to simply starve yourself but to think of those more needy than you. Humble yourself, correct wrongs and become closer to God. The best way I can describe it is that it's like a therapeutic spiritual detox :)
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