If you would lead, then lead not for your glory,
Not for the flags that flutter with your face.
But hold your silence when the crowd roars warlike,
And speak for peace – though it may bring disgrace.

If you can hear your critics without fury,
And learn from truth, though whispered in dissent;
If you can hold your power with no trembling,
Yet know it’s not your gift, but something lent.

If you can rule without the thirst to conquer,
If maps don't tempt you more than children’s lives;
If you can walk the palace halls in silence,
While far below, the common struggle thrives.

If you can meet with praise and know it's fleeting,
And face the rage without the urge to crush;
If wealth and armies do not dull your conscience,
And pride still yields when justice whispers: hush.

If you can see your past – not whitewashed, shining –
But stained with all the pain your hands have shaped,
And still, instead of clinging, choose refining,
Let go the lie, the myth your power draped.

If you can kneel not to the throne but sorrow,
And raise the fallen with unguarded hand;
If what you build gives hope beyond tomorrow,
And truth, not fear, becomes your last command—

Then history may say you turned the turning,
That greatness bloomed when you became more man.
Not by control, nor by the torch still burning—
But by the peace that you yourself began.