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

I Shall Meet Eternity with a Smile

By Bidita Rahman

I did not come into this world
To kneel before another’s pride,
To beg for love from hardened hearts,
Or let their judgments chart my course.

I was not born to please the crowd,
Nor justify the dreams I chase,
Nor carry every cruel remark
Like shadows that refuse to fade.

Let whispers travel through the wind,
Let bitter tongues pronounce my name;
Their words cannot diminish me,
Their judgments cannot write my fate.

I have no time for borrowed hatred,
No days to squander on hollow praise;
My soul was made for greater journeys,
For loftier peaks and brighter days.

I came to gather wisdom’s light,
To turn my suffering into grace,
To rise beyond my yesterday,
And face my destiny with courage.

I came to learn the art of courage,
To build where others chose to break,
To unearth strength within my silence,
To give far more than I could take.

Let others measure life by applause,
By fleeting power, wealth, or fame;
I seek the wealth of inner freedom,
A soul that will not bow to shame.

For when the final sunset calls,
And earthly victories fade away,
When all my battles turn to silence,
And time has nothing left to say,

I wish to meet the Supreme Power
With neither bitterness nor fear,
But with a smile upon my spirit
And gratitude for every year.

And if I’m asked how I have lived,
May my existence be my reply:

I learned.
I struggled.
I grew.
I achieved.
I loved.
I endured.

And I never surrendered my soul
To the judgments of the world.

I did not live to please humanity.
I lived to honor my humanity.

And when I finally meet eternity,
May I carry no unfinished courage,
No unlived purpose,
Only the quiet grace of a peaceful smile,
And a soul that knows
It truly lived.

© 2026 Bidita Rahman. All rights reserved.

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 Poetry, Psychology, spirituality, Strength, Thought, Truth

I Am Tired, Yet I Keep Going

By Bidita Rahman

I am tired,
not simply from the burden of passing days,
but from the endless responsibilities
that quietly sip away my strength.

I am tired of being strong,
of carrying burdens no one sees,
of tucking exhaustion behind a practiced smile,
and murmuring, “I am fine,”
when my soul quietly pleads for peace.

Life has asked so much of me—
my patience, my courage, my sacrifices,
my wakeful nights,
and the small, quiet pieces of myself
I have given away in the name of responsibility.

Sometimes, I wish
the world would stop demanding,
the clock would stop running,
and I could simply exist,
without expectations,
without explanations,
without another battle to fight.

There are nights
when even my dreams grow heavy,
when silence becomes my sole companion,
and tears stay unspoken
because tomorrow still needs me.

Yet, I rise again.

Not because I am never broken,
not because I have endless strength,
but because deep down beneath my exhaustion
lives a steady determination
that refuses to surrender.

I have learned
this courage is not always a roaring fire.
Sometimes, it is a weary heart
choosing to beat with hope
for just one more day.

I do not need to conquer the world tonight.
I do not need to prove my strength to anyone.
Perhaps surviving today,
with dignity and grace,
is already its own quiet victory.

And if tomorrow finds me weary again,
I will move a little slower,
breathe a little deeper in,
and remind myself
that even the strongest warrior
deserves a gentle moment of rest.

I am exhausted, but I am not defeated.
I am carrying responsibilities, but I still carry dreams.
I am tired of life’s battles,
yet I have not let go of the journey.

For as long as a small light remains in me,
I will protect it—
not by burning myself endlessly,
but by learning when to rest,
when to release,
and when to quietly begin again.

I am tired.
I am human.
I am still quietly becoming.
And I will keep going—
not at the cost of losing myself,
but with the hope of finding myself again.

biditarahman Poetry, Strength, Thought, Truth

Release the Past, Welcome the Present

By Bidita Rahman

Tonight, I set my sorrows gently down,
And let the stars quietly melt my frown.
What once slipped away, I no longer chase,
I welcome this moment with calm dignity.

The past may whisper softly, but cannot remain,
I value its dwelling shadows and turn away.
Beneath the mild moon, my mind finds rest,
I release the past and accept the present.

“Not every wound needs an answer; some simply need the peace of being released.”

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

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

THE ART OF RISING

THE ART OF RISING

My solitude, my battles, my hidden strength, my hard-won success

Bidita Rahman

I have wandered unseen roads,
Carried invisible burdens on my shoulders.
Smiled through tempests, swallowed my worries whole,
And waged silent wars deep inside.

There were nights when my thoughts thundered louder
Than the restless world beyond my door.
When I questioned the very shape of my existence,
And wondered what cause kept me fighting.

I’ve felt the heavy weight of solitude,
Of holding dreams too vast for my surroundings.
Of giving my all in silence, without applause,
Of building hope atop uncertain ground.

Yet solitude revealed something beautiful to me:
Not every empty room echoes with loss.
Sometimes, when the world hushes to silence,
You can finally hear the voice that lives within your soul.

I’ve stumbled, yes,
I’ve failed, yes,
I’ve watched golden chances slip through my fingers.
I’ve faced disappointments that almost convinced me
That tomorrow would mirror the shadows of yesterday.

But my darkest chapter does not define me,
Nor am I measured by the times I fell.
I am the courage that carried me forward,
The silent strength no one could see.

I have shaped my pain into purpose,
My struggles into stepping stones beneath my feet,
My disappointments into fierce determination,
And my loneliness into a strength that is wholly mine.

I no longer run after applause.
I no longer plead to be understood.
I am learning to trust the winding path of my journey,
Even when the road twists away from what I imagined.

Let them misjudge the power in my silence.
Let them misread the rhythm of my pace.
I am not racing against anyone else;
I am determined to arrive at my own place.

One day, these sleepless nights will reveal their meaning.
These sacrifices will become the story I tell.
The doors that closed will stand as reminders
That rejection was only a bend in my journey.

And when success finally discovers me,
I will remember the person I once was,
The one who held nothing but a dream,
A wounded heart and the courage to believe.

I will celebrate, not for an easy life,
But because I never surrendered.
Because even as the fire circled me,
I found a reason to rise from the glowing embers.

I am still in the making.
Still fighting on.
Still learning,
Still growing into myself.

My solitude is not a weakness.
My challenges do not define my identity.
My failures are not where I am headed.
And my success will never be an accident.

I was forged in silence,
Strengthened by every struggle,
Driven by a purpose that burns,
And destined always to rise.

My journey is far from over.
My greatest chapter waits to be written.

— And this time, I am writing it myself.

biditarahman Poetry, Psychology, Thought

Deja Vous

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Deja Vous
Bidita Rahman
The snowy emotion,
seeking the road of devotion-
Walking towards the revolution
its reincarnation, reincarnation
I saw before; it happens to me
its again I feel, I feel back to see
its Deja Vous, I realize it still allowing my knee
to broke down again,
and I am seeking his eyes,
a bloody red eyes, deadly psychic eyes,
I saw it had seen it begin.
I felt it over, and I feel goosebumps.
It should not occur again.
I become tremendously overawing.
My thoughts again to waving
and back to me again
to diminish my present!

biditarahman Poetry, Thought

The Endless Storm

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Endless Storm
Bidita Rahman
A devil is roaring in my sense.
“Your time is slippered into madness.”
the blast need to hear now,
close your eyes, open your senses,
feel the motion of the gale.
I will bring restless blustering moment for you;
and you will be walking with a raging mood.
You are the desperation.
You are the radiant sensation.’
When I call you, “You will be mine.”
I am your Misfortune.

biditarahman Poetry

A feedback of Grey Sense: A Mysterious Silence – Bidita Rahman

Grey Sense, A mysterious Silence written by Bidita Rahman. I do like the moments where is a rhyme, it gives a presumed end and sums up the lines before. I also like the structure you used in the poems. Seems like the color red, gray, and green are your favorite colors, and you make these colors meaningful  for people’s lives, just like the book’s title suggests ” Gray sense, a mysterious silence.”   What a beautiful book title! The overall impression I get from these poems is of someone who is in the midst of change, which is full of love, gratitude, and brave!  I always believe poetry is uniquely a person’s inner thoughts and difficult to share with others because it is taken from the lining of people’s souls.  Among these 40 poems, my favorites are an irritable journey, love of warm womb, and feeling you. Because when I read them, I have a strong feeling connect with the meaning of these words. Thank you so much for publishing such a wonderful book to the world.

Sister Martina Hou

St. Johns Vianney Church

Queens, New York