{"id":59670,"date":"2022-10-31T17:33:27","date_gmt":"2022-10-31T22:33:27","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/hcsblogdotorg.wordpress.com\/?p=59670"},"modified":"2022-10-31T17:33:27","modified_gmt":"2022-10-31T22:33:27","slug":"when-lacking-inspiration-i-always-go-back-to-kipling","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thetacticalhermit.com\/index.php\/2022\/10\/31\/when-lacking-inspiration-i-always-go-back-to-kipling\/","title":{"rendered":"When Lacking Inspiration, I Always Go Back to Kipling…"},"content":{"rendered":"

Mandalay<\/a><\/h1>\n

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By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin’ lazy at the sea,
\nThere’s a Burma girl a-settin’, and I know she thinks o’ me;
\nFor the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:
\n“Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!”
\nCome you back to Mandalay,
\nWhere the old Flotilla lay:
\nCan’t you ‘ear their paddles chunkin’ from Rangoon to Mandalay?
\nOn the road to Mandalay,
\nWhere the flyin’-fishes play,
\nAn’ the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ‘crost the Bay!<\/p>\n

‘Er petticoat was yaller an’ ‘er little cap was green,
\nAn’ ‘er name was Supi-yaw-lat \u2014 jes’ the same as Theebaw’s Queen,
\nAn’ I seed her first a-smokin’ of a whackin’ white cheroot,
\nAn’ a-wastin’ Christian kisses on an ‘eathen idol’s foot:
\nBloomin’ idol made o’mud \u2014
\nWot they called the Great Gawd Budd \u2014
\nPlucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed ‘er where she stud!
\nOn the road to Mandalay . . .<\/p>\n

When the mist was on the rice-fields an’ the sun was droppin’ slow,
\nShe’d git ‘er little banjo an’ she’d sing “~Kulla-lo-lo!~”
\nWith ‘er arm upon my shoulder an’ ‘er cheek agin’ my cheek
\nWe useter watch the steamers an’ the ~hathis~ pilin’ teak.
\nElephints a-pilin’ teak
\nIn the sludgy, squdgy creek,
\nWhere the silence ‘ung that ‘eavy you was ‘arf afraid to speak!
\nOn the road to Mandalay . . .<\/p>\n

But that’s all shove be’ind me \u2014 long ago an’ fur away,
\nAn’ there ain’t no ‘busses runnin’ from the Bank to Mandalay;
\nAn’ I’m learnin’ ‘ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells:
\n“If you’ve ‘eard the East a-callin’, you won’t never ‘eed naught else.”
\nNo! you won’t ‘eed nothin’ else
\nBut them spicy garlic smells,
\nAn’ the sunshine an’ the palm-trees an’ the tinkly temple-bells;
\nOn the road to Mandalay . . .<\/p>\n

I am sick o’ wastin’ leather on these gritty pavin’-stones,
\nAn’ the blasted Henglish drizzle wakes the fever in my bones;
\nTho’ I walks with fifty ‘ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand,
\nAn’ they talks a lot o’ lovin’, but wot do they understand?
\nBeefy face an’ grubby ‘and \u2014
\nLaw! wot do they understand?
\nI’ve a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land!
\nOn the road to Mandalay . . .<\/p>\n

Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst,
\nWhere there aren’t no Ten Commandments an’ a man can raise a thirst;
\nFor the temple-bells are callin’, an’ it’s there that I would be \u2014
\nBy the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea;
\nOn the road to Mandalay,
\nWhere the old Flotilla lay,
\nWith our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay!
\nOn the road to Mandalay,
\nWhere the flyin’-fishes play,
\nAn’ the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ‘crost the Bay!<\/h3>\n

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