By Dr Nina Apra
In corridors where silence screams,
I walked alone with shattered dreams.
A stethoscope around my neck,
But wounds within, a soul to check.
The scent of hope, the cry of pain,
I stood through fire, through loss, through rain.
Each life I touched, a silent vow,
To heal, to help, no matter how.
My lungs once bled, my body broke.
Yet still I stood in heat and smoke.
Ignored by those who saw me fall,
But I kept rising through it all.
Anesthetist in sterile light.
Yet my battles were out of sight.
Sleepless shifts and haunting cries,
Dead men talking in my mind’s skies.
They called me names, they passed me by.
Yet never paused to ask me why.
Why my eyes held stories deep?
Why my smile hid nights of weeping?
Twelve long years I kept inside.
A dream that time had tried to hide.
Till one fine day, I found my voice.
Picked up a pen and made my choice.
From bloodied scrubs to ink-stained hands,
I crossed into my promised land.
Each word I wrote, a wound unsealed.
For each tale I told, a scar was revealed.
I painted pain in prose and rhyme,
Turned trials into truths sublime.
My breath, once short, now filled the page.
A phoenix rising from its cage.
The ones who doubted, now read me.
Their silence is my sweet victory.
From ICU to stage and light,
I found my power, claimed my right.
I am the echo, I am the flame,
More than titles, more than names.
A healer, dreamer, fierce and free,
Author of my decree.
I rose again, not just to mend,
But to inspire, to fight, to transcend.
With every book, each heartfelt line,
I prove, I am born not just to live, but to shine.