In shadows deep, where lungs do ache, A silent thief begins to wake. *Mycobacterium tuberculosis* thrives, In whispered breath, it comes alive.
It hides in air, unseen, unknown, A cough, a sneeze, the seed is sown. From person to person, it moves so fast, A plague of the present, a ghost of the past.
The lungs it strikes with fierce intent, Where pain and cough are closely bent. Blood-streaked sputum, chest aflame, Fatigue and fever in its name.
But not just lungs—it travels far, To spine, to brain, where memories scar. Silent in some, asleep it lies, Yet others suffer as it multiplies.
In latent form, it hides its face, No symptoms felt, it leaves no trace. But active TB strikes when least aware, A weakened body caught in its snare.
The diagnosis comes with care, Tests and scans and breathless air. But hope remains in medicine's art, Six months or more, it tears apart.
Isoniazid and rifampin fight, With pyrazinamide, it loses might. Though TB lingers, it can be beat, With treatment strong, it knows defeat.
A global threat, but we prevail, With knowledge vast, we tip the scale. For in the breath of life, we see, The cure that conquers deadly TB.
