By: Khalil Gibran
Translated by: Elmaz Fida
Woe to that nation that has doctrines and sects, but has no faith.
Woe to the nation that wears what it does not grow and feeds on what it does not produce.
Woe to that nation that considers the tyrant a hero, and the conqueror who humiliates it, pitiable.
Woe to that nation that raises its voice only at funerals, is proud only of ruins and revolts only when its neck is between the sword and the stump.
Woe to that nation that has the fox as its leader, the magician as its philosopher, and Laramans and imitators as its artists.
Woe to that nation that welcomes the ruler with drums and bids farewell with whistles, to welcome another with drums and insults.
Woe to that nation where wise men are silent, like the silence of years.
Woe to that nation where able men writhe in the comfort of their beds.
Woe to that divided nation, where each part sees itself as a separate nation.
