Bright and white from pole to pole,
I curse whatever gods may be
For my gullible soul.
I have winced, I have cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody and bowed.
Looms but the Horror of the jade,
And yet the so-called joy of the years
Finds and shall forever find me afraid.
How empty is my punishment scroll,
I am a slave to my guilt:
I am lost to my soul.
P.S: The true rendition of the William Ernest Henley Poem “Invictus”