By Shwetima Chaudhary
I breathe,
Though my grief holds tight like chilly air.
With each inhale is a calm dare,
To rise again, despite the weight.
I stand strong and thrashed fear out of the gate.
I breathe,
Not softly, not to just survive,
With courage and deep, to remain alive.
Each breath defines what seeks to break,
A quiet catastrophe I choose to make.
In radiation’s sterile glow,
Where time is slow,
I fill my heart with unbroken grace,
To meet the fire and to run on a steady pace.
I breathe,
To every great soul too tired to speak.
For every tear that flows down over the cheek,
To everyone who is fighting with all their effort,
My breath becomes their voice.
So let the universe come and witness,
This breath I draw is victory.
Not just survival, but to take a stand,
A rebel's breath, brave and unplanned.