I do not wake just to pass the day,
To follow the clock and drift away.
I rise for a purpose, fierce and wide—
A calling, a fire, that burns inside.

It’s not just drive, it’s not mere will,
It’s the ache in my bones I need to fill.
Ambition may climb, but passion believes,
It plants its roots and never leaves.

I’m not chasing trophies or shallow praise,
I’m chasing the feeling that sets me ablaze.
That quiet joy when a child learns to read,
When I give, when I teach, I’m finally freed.

Passion is more than a moment’s high,
It’s the reason I breathe, the reason I try.
It’s the echo that rings when no one claps,
The strength to rebuild when the whole world collapses.

A child plays not for reward or gain,
But for the thrill that runs in their vein.
They lose all sense of time and place—
That’s passion: timeless, a sacred grace.

If love is the seed, then passion’s the rain,
It nurtures the soul through joy and through pain.
It’s waking with purpose, sleeping in peace,
It’s daring to hope when all else has ceased.

So when I speak, it’s from a place of fire,
Of sweat, of soul, of burning desire.
To live is not simply to breathe and be—
But to pour your heart into your destiny.

Yes, I am passion — unshaken, unbowed,
Not needing the stage, but still standing proud.
For when I give my all, I truly live—
And there is no greater gift to give.