Where the head is held high.

If you can board that train and say goodbye 

even when the numbness of her cold hand 

doesn't let it rise to you.

If you can reach your house 

knowing that she would keep loitering on station platforms before reaching hers.

If you can stay in that house angry

saying you are solving problems, 

without having solved what you left behind you at the station.

If you can keep getting angry over her past that can't be changed, knowing that you are burning your own present, and hers.

If you keep smothering the self confidence she gained after so much of toil,

Either she will diminish and die.

Or she'll pick herself up again,
keep walking in this mad crowd.

Cold and alone. But with her head held high.

No love which diminishes you is love.