It is the new normal – a twisted poem

It is normal to be afraid of others and to see them as potential risk than a potential friend.

It is normal not to see your family for a year and to be proud of it, as a sacrifice for an invisible danger.

It is normal to pay to prove you are healthy to travel, to go to pub, to attend an event.

It is normal to be depressed, work from home and forget how a date with a random human looks like

It is normal to be enraged and do nothing about it

It is normal to crave things that used to be normal before

It is normal to start to forget how normal used to feel.

It is normal to be alienated.

Photo by DICSON on Unsplash

Today One Of My Favourite Poems

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!

By Rudyard Kippling

Photo by Artur Aldyrkhanov on Unsplash

Love,

Teodora