biditarahman Poem, Poetry, Psychology, spirituality, Strength, Thought, Truth

Still, I Am in Motion

An Unbroken Journey of Purpose, Pain, and Possibility

By Bidita Rahman

I have wandered through nameless storms,
Carried wounds that spoke in silence,
Endured the weight of shame.
Humiliation rapped at the door of my soul,
Yet never conquered my ultimate goal.

I have tasted pain that words cannot define,
Embraced heavy burdens and claimed them as my own.
I have watched my dreams drift beneath darkened skies,
Yet kept a thousand suns blazing inside my mind.

Some days, my energy flickered, barely a flame,
Some nights, my heart wandered, forgetting its own name.
But even when the world appeared still,
My purpose whispered softly, urging me to rise.

I do not walk to escape my past,
Nor chase a victory meant to last.
I move because my soul still knows
That even in suffering, something beautiful grows.

My scars are chapters, not my chains,
My losses are lessons, not simply pains.
Every rejection, every closed door,
Has taught my spirit to become more.

I carry possibilities within my chest,
A restless hope that never sleeps.
With zeal, courage, and grace,
I keep moving forward at my own steady pace.

I am not untouched by sorrow or fear,
I have simply learned the art of perseverance.
I may grow weary, I may bend,
But my unfinished story refuses to end.

For I was never promised an easy road,
Only the strength to carry my load.
And although the journey has wounded me deep,
There are sacred promises to myself I must keep.

I am still here. I am still becoming.
My heart beats alive, my spirit keeps running.
Not every battle has been won,
Not every dream has seen the sun.

But I have a purpose beyond my pain,
A thousand reasons urging me to rise again.
And while life moves through shade and light,
I will keep my vision fiercely burning bright.

I am not finished. I am not done.
I am the journey itself, not just the one who has won.
With every breath, through all I endure,
I remain in motion, determined and sure.

© 2026 Bidita Rahman · All Rights Reserved

biditarahman Neurosciences, Poem, Poetry, Psychology, spirituality, Strength, Thought, Truth

Still, I Keep Going

By Bidita Rahman

Some nights
sleep stands outside my door
and refuses to come in.

The clock keeps moving,
but I remain awake—
counting unfinished thoughts,
replaying conversations,
carrying tomorrow
before tomorrow even arrives.

My mind becomes a crowded room.

What if I fail?
What if I am too late?
What if everything I have worked for
slips quietly from my hands?

Anxiety knows how to speak loudly
when the world becomes silent.

It turns small worries into storms,
uncertainty into mountains,
and every unanswered question
into another reason to stay awake.

Yet morning always finds me.

Sometimes exhausted.
Sometimes uncertain.
Sometimes carrying a heart
heavier than anyone can see.

But still—
I get up.

I gather the scattered pieces
of courage left from the night,
put my feet back on the ground,
and face another day.

I have learned
that strength does not always roar.

Sometimes strength is simply
washing your face after a sleepless night,
showing up with tired eyes,
and whispering,

Keep going.

Challenges have stood before me
like locked doors.

Some opened.
Some did not.

Some forced me
to find another road.

And perhaps that is what becoming is—

not living without fear,
not escaping every storm,
not winning every battle,

but learning to walk
while your hands are trembling.

I still have questions.
I still have difficult nights.
I still meet versions of myself
that are afraid of what comes next.

But fear no longer decides
where my story ends.

I may walk slowly.
I may stop to gather strength.
I may carry scars
from roads no one knows I traveled.

But I am still moving.

And tonight,
if sleep forgets my name again,
I will remind myself:

I have survived nights
I once thought would break me.

I have crossed storms
I could not see beyond.

And even when
I cannot see the whole road ahead,

I can still take
one more step.

The night may keep me awake,
anxiety may shake my heart,
and life may test every part of me—
but I am still here.
Still becoming.
Still moving.
Still going.

— Bidita Rahman