The DBA's Night
In the world where data never sleeps,
Where every table holds secrets it keeps,
I stand behind the scenes, unseen,
Keeping databases healthy, fast, and clean.
Oracle became more than just a name,
It became a journey, a challenge, a game.
With SQL in hand and logs in sight,
I've chased down problems through the darkest night.
When users see screens and applications flow,
They rarely wonder what makes them go.
But I know the heartbeat beneath every page—
The database working, steady on stage.
I've watched alerts rise, I've answered the call,
Restored what was lost and recovered it all.
From backups to patches, from RAC to DR,
I've learned that resilience is built step by step, not by chance.
There were migrations, upgrades, and plans to revise,
Performance issues requiring sharper eyes.
A query too slow, a disk running low—
Another production fire, and off I go.
There were moments of pressure, moments of doubt,
And countless incidents to figure out.
But every challenge taught me to see
That persistence is part of this DBA journey.
I've learned that technology changes with time,
But fundamentals remain by design:
Protect the data, keep systems alive,
Plan for tomorrow so businesses thrive.
Years have passed, and the journey goes on,
With lessons from every midnight and dawn.
The tools may change, the platforms may grow,
But the passion to solve remains in my flow.
I may not be the person users see,
But their trust in the data depends on me.
Behind every transaction, report, and reply,
There's a database—and a DBA standing by.
So here's to the nights, the fixes, the grind,
To every difficult problem I've left behind.
To Oracle, to data, to all I've come to be—
A guardian of databases, quietly.
And when I look back at the road I have trod,
Through failures, successes, and lessons from God,
I realize the journey has shaped who I am—
Not just an Oracle DBA,
but a problem solver, a protector, and a lifelong learner in IT.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem