Rabeeba walks, a woman strange,
With hearts that beat, an endless range.
A thousand strong beneath her chest,
Each heart, a warrior, never at rest.
One heart fades, but not for long,
For another grows, steady and strong.
When axes fall and wood is torn,
A tree is cut, a new one's born.
While one heart bleeds in silent pain,
Another laughs, its joy unchained.
She’s seen her hearts in battles fall,
And buried them beneath the pall.
Yet each time grief lays her to rest,
She rises—still, she gives her best.
A nurse to wounds too deep to tell,
Bandaging scars where others fell.
But some, she leaves in bitter fight,
For they, too, make her spirit bright.
A thousand hearts, she holds with grace,
Each one a step in life's fierce race.
Rabeeba, queen with fierce intent,
Each heart she loses, not misspent.
Her strength resides in every beat,
For with each loss, she finds her feet.
A thousand hearts, still growing strong,
In every tear, she sings her song.
Through death and pain, she’s always known,
With every fall, she stands alone.
Her thousand hearts, like stars, endure,
A power fierce, a force so pure.
In every loss, a seed she sows,
For from her hearts, new life still grows.
