Dancing Through The Lightning Strikes Poem by Pushp Sirohi

They told you to wait for the storm to pass.
To stand still.
To be careful.
To behave like survival was success.

But storms don't ask permission.
And lightning doesn't pause
for people who are "almost ready."

So you learned another way.

You learned to dance.

Not because the rain stopped—
but because standing still
was slowly killing you.

You danced when the sky cracked open.
When plans failed.
When labels were handed to you
before chances ever were.

You danced through rejection,
through silence,
through rooms that never called your name.

Not gracefully at first.
Not confidently.
But honestly.

Every step said:
I am still here.
Every move said:
I am still becoming.

They mistook your scars for weakness,
your patience for permission,
your quiet for surrender.

They were wrong.

You weren't waiting for light.
You were learning to move
inside the darkness.

Lightning struck—
and instead of running,
you learned its rhythm.

You fell.
You rose.
You adapted.

You didn't ask life to be fair.
You asked yourself to be stronger.

This is for the ones
who were never chosen first.
Who were told "later."
Who were tested instead of trusted.

This is for the youth
who refuse to harden,
even when the world tries to.

Dance anyway.

Dance through the fear.
Dance through the doubt.
Dance through the noise
that says you are not enough.

Because storms don't last forever—
but the ones who learn to move through them
don't disappear when they end.

Some people wait for the lightning to stop.

Others become unafraid
and dance through the lightning strikes.

And that is how futures are born. - Pushp Sirohi