I am not thunder, not a blaze.
Not made for crowds or heavy praise.
I am the breeze at break of day,
Soft-spoken strength that leads the way.
I move in silence, soft and sure,
Yet shape the leaves, yet still endure.
The world may never see me come,
But still, I move, and still, I hum.
There’s beauty in the gentle path,
In solving life like careful math.
In numbers, lines, and patterns wide,
I find the calm where truths can hide.
Equations breathe, and logic sings.
In math, I trace the world’s deep things.
In pages worn and stories vast,
In every future, in every past
I read not just to know, but feel,
To learn what time and care reveal.
Each book a step, each word a guide,
To open thought, not push aside.
With pen in hand or brush in palm,
My quiet thoughts grow deep and calm.
I draw not just what eyes can see,
But what the heart says it must be.
Art is where I leave a trace,
A quiet echo, full of grace.
My fists can strike, my stance is true
But peace is what I’m drawn to do.
I’ve trained to fight, but not for fame,
Not every battle needs a name.
I fight for balance, not for pride,
A strength that walks with truth beside.
I hear the music others miss
A chord, a tone, a whispered bliss.
Melodies that few may hear,
Become the light when skies aren’t clear.
They hold me up, they pull me through
Each note a thread that weaves me new.
And though I walk a patient pace,
You’ll find me firm in every place.
To those I love, I stay, I bend—
I’ll be the last and truest friend.
Not loud, not quick to turn or leave,
But loyal in the way I breathe.
And in my dreams, I see the day
I wear the white, I find the way
To heal, to help, to gently hold,
The hurting hearts, the young, the old.
To be the hands that soothe the fear,
To make the quiet voices clear.
I do not rush, I do not scream
I build with patience, hope, and dream.
And as I walk this steady path,
I carry wind, I carry math.
I carry art, and song, and fire,
And all the things that dreams require.
As they say “What we know matters, but who
we are matters more.”
Hence, who l am is not a storm.
Not loud, not harsh, not shaped to conform.
But I am constant, kind, and wise
A breeze beneath the morning skies.
Saba Khan is the student of class 7th in St Joseph school of Cambridge-ON in Canada. She is passionate about writing and has many stories and poems to her credit.
