Born to Endure,The Warrior Within

Administer " Pentas and Morphine,” The doctor instructed!

“You’re a special being.”

The words Mother never stopped feeding my auditory canals.

What’s the unique feature?

A persistent puzzle that never gets solved.

Maybe a talent.

Maybe some sparking yellow balls fitted to their sockets.

Maybe an inborn pharmacist,

For wining and dining with drugs is my calling.

But pharmacists don’t reign in beds!

Do they?

My awful lullaby

Engulfs the four walls of my second home—hospitals.

White sheets, sterile air, the rhythmic beeping of machines,

A symphony of survival.

Maybe my superhuman ability

Is cells dying twelve times faster than the speed of light.

As the excruciating pain feeds on my feeble soul,

Every breath becomes a battle,

Every moment a silent war.

“Administer Pentas and Morphine,”

The doctor instructed,

A script so familiar, it feels rehearsed.

In the slumberland full of relief,

Where agony momentarily loosens its grip,

I gather my breath,

Summon my strength,

And yell,

“I’m a WARRIOR.”

Not by choice,

Not by chance,

But by design.

For even in the fire, I rise,

For even in the storm, I stand.

I am not the weakness they see,

I am the fight that never fades.

I am more than a body in battle,

I am the soul of a warrior.