Bravely Failing

At first, a whisper deep within the chest,
A shadow stretched across the mind's bright room.
Each step unsure, each heartbeat tight and pressed,
The world a maze of silence, doubt, and gloom.

But fear, though sharp, is not a chain of steel
It trembles when the will begins to rise.
A single breath, a truth we choose to feel,
Can burn away the haze that veils our eyes.

For bravery is not the lack of dread,
But walking on despite the storm ahead.
It’s finding light when every flame seems dead,
And standing tall where once we crouched in thread.

What once we feared becomes the path we take
And in that stride, a sleeping soul will wake.

Ode to MCAT: Premed Slain

Behold the test where futures rise or fall,
A gate of thought, of science, will, and nerve.
Its questions echo like a distant call
To heal, to learn, to lead, to serve, deserve.

The passage dense, the data swift and deep,
With logic twined through every winding phrase.
While sleepless minds their weary vigils keep,
And mark the hours by Kaplan’s measured days.

Yet in this crucible, the soul is tried—
Not just in facts, but in the strength to strive.
A purpose forged where intellect and pride
Unite to keep ambition’s flame alive.

O MCAT, daunting beast both cruel and wise,
You test the heart as much as mind and eyes.

Genetics' Genealogy

Within the cell, a code both old and wise,
Inscribed in strands too small for naked sight,
The blueprint of all life in silence lies,
A thread that weaves through darkness into light.

From adenine to thymine’s faithful pair,
Each base a note in nature’s vast refrain.
Through coiled helix spun with tender care,
The traits of kin through ages still remain.

Yet not by fate alone is life designed—
Mutation stirs, and time selects its own.
In labs and lore, we seek, we map, we find
The keys that turn disease to flesh and bone.

O genetics, deep fountain of our truth,
You speak of ancient futures, old as youth.

Science Sonnet

O seeker crowned in reason’s steady flame,
You pierce the veil where mysteries reside.
Through test and trial, you call the stars by name,
And chart the pulse where living truths abide.

No throne you crave, no altar do you raise,
Yet through your lens, the cosmos bends and yields.
You measure time, give chaos shape and phrase,
And sow discovery in stubborn fields.

Though some may doubt or shun your patient art,
You walk undaunted through the dark unknown,
With questions burning fiercely in your heart,
And knowledge growing seed by seed, full-grown.

O science, torch against the endless night,
You turn our wonder into human right.

Ode to Albuquerque

Where mesas guard the wide and endless blue,
And Sandia blushes with the evening’s fire,
Albuquerque wakes, both old and new—
A city shaped by sun, by wind, by choir.

The Rio Grande flows steady through her breast,
A thread of life through desert, dust, and dream.
The cottonwoods in golden silence rest,
While chile scents the air with smoky steam.

Adobe walls hold stories in their clay,
Of pueblos, prayers, and voices in the land.
Balloon-filled skies at dawn begin to say
That wonder here walks gently, hand in hand.

O city born of earth and open sky,
Your soul is flame that does not fade or die.

Ode to Paris

Beneath the gaze of stars and soft lamplight,
Where Seine winds through the dreams of saints and kings,
There lies a city bathed in art and night,
Whose every stone and shadow softly sings.

The bells of Notre-Dame in twilight chime,
While lovers drift where willows kiss the stream.
Each café hums with prose and brush and rhyme—
The soul of France, alive in thought and dream.

From Louvre’s halls to Montmartre’s climbing lane,
The past and present whisper, intertwine.
In every glance, a joy tinged sweet with pain,
A fleeting spark of something near divine.

O Paris, crowned in beauty and in flame,
Your name itself forever speaks of fame.

Ode To New York City

Upon the shores where Hudson's waters gleam,
A restless titan rises from the tide—
Steel spires pierce the clouds in urban dream,
Where countless hopes and sorrows coincide.

The morning breaks with honking, hurried feet,
Broadway awakes with laughter, lights, and tears.
In alleys deep and avenues elite,
The rhythm pulses through a hundred years.

Lady of Liberty lifts torch and face,
Her silent cry a promise to the world.
Here strangers find a home, a sacred place,
In melting pot where destinies are twirled.

O city crowned with chaos and with grace,
You hold the beating heart of time and space.

The Bronx to Battery Park, NYC

 1.

Fordham wakes slowly.
Birdsong over bodegas—
shoes lace with purpose.

2.
Bronx River hums low,
a whisper beneath the road—
first prayer of the day.

3.
Past Yankee Stadium,
ghosts cheer from empty bleachers—
history walks too.

4.
Under the Cross Bronx,
graffiti tags speak in code—
old names, never gone.

5.
Mott Haven’s still warm,
cafecito on the stoop—
even stone greets you.

6.
Crossing the Harlem,
I pause on the bridge’s spine—
city breathes below.

7.
Harlem blocks alive,
church bells and open windows—
soul in every step.

8.
Malcolm’s mural stares
from a deli wall—watching,
guarding, still unbowed.

9.
Adam Clayton flows,
laughter rides the sidewalk cracks—
a drumline of feet.

10.
Columbia’s gates,
ivy climbs ambition’s face—
I keep walking past.

11.
Midtown glass rises,
cold and clean, but full of sky—
my face in the shine.

12.
Radio City,
tourists spinning, eyes too wide—
I nod through the blur.

13.
Times Square yells at me—
I duck down a side alley
to remember peace.

14.
Koreatown lunch—
kimchi and quiet blessings—
hot broth for the miles.

15.
Flatiron leans sharp,
like it's slicing through the breeze—
even buildings move.

16.
Union Square speaks loud,
protest signs and pigeons swirl—
freedom’s always near.

17.
Washington Square Park,
a saxophone breaks the hush—
love in every note.

18.
SoHo’s concrete art,
every window a mirror—
I see all my selves.

19.
Chinatown smells sweet—
ginger, sweat, and roasted duck—
I slow just to breathe.

20.
Little Italy
sips espresso on the curb—
old songs, young sneakers.

21.
Canal’s rush of wheels—
vendors call from both sidewalks,
hands holding more life.

22.
City Hall glances,
white stone bright in the warm light—
rules can’t stop the walk.

23.
Wall Street looms in steel,
numbers crawling up towers—
I pass without pause.

24.
Lady Liberty
peeks between the glass and waves—
almost home again.

25.
Battery Park still—
the sea touches concrete edge.
I sit. I exhale.

Harlem

 1.

Drums in the distance—
Marcus Garvey Park at dusk,
heartbeats in the trees.

2.
Brownstones wear the past
like fine Sunday morning hats—
stories on each step.

3.
Children jump double-dutch,
braids swinging, voices in flight—
joy with no ceiling.

4.
Smoke curls from the stoop—
someone’s ribs are gospel now,
sauce thick with hello.

5.
A jazz note escapes
from a basement on Lenox—
then back underground.

6.
Books sold on the street,
Langston’s words in every spine—
still speaking, still loud.

7.
Graffiti like prayers
scribbled on old brick walls—
paint never forgets.

8.
Apollo lights shine—
echoes of heels, silk, and sweat
linger in the red.

9.
Church bells crack the noon,
suits flood out into the sun—
Amen in their walk.

10.
The bus never waits,
but grandmothers hold their ground—
dignity in stride.

11.
A barber leans back,
spins tales between fades and lines—
the shop hums with truth.

12.
Harlem nights breathe deep,
windows wide with music spills—
air thick with soul food.

13.
A street vendor yells—
incense, oils, books, and wisdom
bundled in his hands.

14.
Sidewalk chess players
argue in seven languages—
every checkmate proud.

15.
A mural of love—
faces that shaped the planet
watch over the block.

16.
Uptown skyline glows
less with glass, more with spirit—
Harlem burns softer.

17.
Schoolkids shout and run—
they wear the future boldly
on hand-me-down shoes.

18.
The corner preacher
rises with cracked amplifier—
his faith louder still.

19.
Tenements hum slow,
radiators knock like drums—
rhythm in the pipes.

20.
The B train arrives,
late but full of conversation—
strangers nod, then talk.

21.
Auntie braids hair tight
on the porch, telling old jokes—
the sky listens in.

22.
Harlem is not gone.
It's changing, yes—but still here,
still singing, still Black.

23.
A poet in Boots
reads on Malcolm X Boulevard—
the sidewalk applauds.

24.
From a window high,
a saxophone cuts the night—
moonlight leans to hear.

25.
In Harlem’s deep breath,
grief and joy share the same space—
both are spoken here.

Resilience in NYC

 1.

Subway packed and late—
still, we make space for someone
clutching one more bag.

2.
Shoes soaked in gray slush,
but she dances at the curb—
resilience in heels.

3.
Steam from every grate,
proof the underground still breathes—
fire lives below.

4.
Windowless bodega,
but the lights never flicker—
grit hums in the hum.

5.
A child in the park
teaches herself how to fall—
and how to rise up.

6.
Rats dart through the dark,
but so do dreams on the run—
everyone hustles.

7.
The ferry still moves,
through fog, rain, and bitter wind—
routine as hope is.

8.
Cracks split the sidewalk,
yet dandelions bloom bright—
the city forgives.

9.
A cook lights the grill
before the dawn hits Broadway—
his hands never shake.

10.
The sirens pass fast.
Then quiet, then life resumes—
this city endures.

11.
The Bronx hums at dusk,
kids turning milk crates to hoops—
joy builds from nothing.

12.
An auntie in Queens
grows herbs in plastic buckets—
she calls it her farm.

13.
The blackout comes on—
but voices rise in the dark,
music without fear.

14.
Elevator stuck.
We talk instead of panicking—
laughter finds a crack.

15.
A man with no home
still folds his coat like it’s silk—
ritual is strength.

16.
Cabs honk, people shout—
but someone stops in the rain
to hold open doors.

17.
Unpaid, overworked—
still, the nurse checks one more chart
before she clocks out.

18.
From fire escape steps,
I watch the storm and smile back—
I’ve weathered worse storms.

19.
He sings on the train
with a hole in his jacket—
but not in his voice.

20.
Downtown windows shine,
reflected in broken glass—
even shards hold light.

21.
We argue, we cry—
then meet at the same corner,
forgiveness in hand.

22.
A teen at the march
shouts louder than the traffic—
justice in her throat.

23.
Through eviction, loss—
someone ties a perfect bow
on a kid’s birthday.

24.
The skyline cracked once.
And still, it stands tall each night—
scarred, not silenced.

25.
In this city’s chest,
each beat is a comeback song—
we live loud, then louder.

Reflection in NYC

 1.

Storefront glass at night—
I catch myself in passing,
unsure who I am.

2.
The fountain goes still.
Skyscrapers bow in water—
even steel softens.

3.
Subway window blurs,
my face mixed with tunnel walls—
ghosts riding with me.

4.
Crosswalk countdown blinks—
I ask myself one more time
if I’m still aligned.

5.
In Central Park fog,
the trees know my quiet mood—
we sway without wind.

6.
Museum hush holds me,
a portrait looks back too long—
we share recognition.

7.
Brooklyn Bridge at dusk,
I look down to see the tide—
and also my past.

8.
Rain on windowsill,
I trace one drop with my eye—
it follows my thoughts.

9.
Alone in the crowd,
I hear what I never say—
my own voice, waiting.

10.
The skyline reflects
off puddles that I step through—
broken still holds light.

11.
On the fire escape,
I light a candle and think—
of all I’ve survived.

12.
You ask how I am.
The city answers for me—
it depends on where.

13.
Bus ride through Harlem,
my hands on my knees, thinking—
am I who I meant?

14.
Inside the cathedral,
stained glass flickers on my face—
I leave with more peace.

15.
The 7 train hums,
my eyes catch the Queens skyline—
old dreams reappear.

16.
Rooftop on the LES,
I watch myself let things go—
each one in the wind.

17.
Library corners,
books whisper my old questions—
some I now answer.

18.
Waiting for a cab,
I study my reflection
in a taxi door.

19.
Staring at the soup,
my hands stop stirring the spoon—
grief brews underneath.

20.
You passed me today.
I looked back and didn’t flinch—
healing looks like this.

21.
Late train, tired eyes,
I write poems in my head—
they sound like my truth.

22.
Graffiti on walls,
asks what I’m doing with time—
I take the long way.

23.
From the Cloisters’ hill,
I see all five boroughs—
and my five versions.

24.
The mirror cracked once.
I kept it, learned to love it—
I see more now, not less.

25.
A pigeon stares back
as I sit near Prospect Park—
stillness meets stillness.