TIGblogs - Roentgen

THE NINE WOES
By Kahlil Gibran

Woe to the nation that departs from religion to belief, from country lane to city alley, from wisdom to logic.

Woe to the nation that does not weave what it wears, nor plant what it eats, nor press the wine that it drinks.

Woe to the conquered nation that sees the victor's pomp as the perfection of virtue, and in whose eyes the ugliness of the conqueror is beauty.

Woe to the nation that combats injury in its dream but yields to the wrong in its wakefulness.

Woe to the nation that does not raise its voice save in a funeral, that shows esteem only at the grave, that waits to rebel until its neck is under the edge of the sword.

Woe to the nation whose politics is subtlety, whose philosophy is jugglery, whose industry is patching.

Woe to the nation that greets a conqueror with life and drum, then hisses him off to greet another conqueror with trumpet and song.

Woe to the nation whose sage is voiceless, whose champion is blind, whose advocate is prattler.

Woe to the nation in which each tribe claims to be a nation.
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Why do I get this feeling that I want to cry for my country?