Still I Rise After Every Fall Poem by Mohammad Yousef

In the quiet hush of dawn,
when shadows linger and whispers fade,
I find myself, a phoenix,
cradled in the ashes of yesterday—
each stumble, each bruise,
a testament to the weight of gravity,
yet I rise, relentless,
a symphony of resilience
echoing through the corridors of silence.

The winds may howl,
the storms may batter
the fragile walls I've built,
but in the eye of the tempest
I stand tall, roots entwined,
drawing strength from the earth beneath,
a reminder that even the mightiest oak
once trembled as a seed.

I gather the fragments of my spirit,
scattered like autumn leaves,
each one a story, a lesson,
a brushstroke on the canvas of my soul—
I weave them together,
a tapestry of tenacity,
each thread shimmering with the glow
of battles fought and won.

With every fall,
I learn the dance of gravity,
the art of rising,
the poetry of perseverance—
like the sun that stretches
its golden fingers across the horizon,
I greet the day with open arms,
embracing the beauty in the struggle.

For I am the echo of the mountains,
the whisper of the rivers,
the heartbeat of the earth,
and though the world may try to pin me down,
I am buoyant, I am fierce,
an unyielding spirit,
a tide that cannot be tamed,
I rise.

From the depths of despair,
I carve my path anew,
with each heartbeat
a promise to the universe—
that I am here,
and I will not be silenced,
for in the dance of existence,
I find my rhythm,
my voice, my truth.

Still, I rise after each fall,
like the moon that waxes and wanes,
like the stars that pierce the cloak of night,
a steadfast reminder
that even in darkness,
there exists a spark,
a flicker of hope
that propels me forward,
lighting the way
through the labyrinth of life.

So let the winds blow,
let the tides turn,
I will rise,
with the ferocity of a thousand storms,
the grace of a thousand suns,
for I am alive,
and in each rise,
I claim my story,
my strength,
my unbreakable spirit.