Published August 31, 2021
by Niharika Richard
(Kolkata, West Bengal, India)
I found her trembling and frown,
With her heart cold and thoughts on hold,
Where everyone called her originality ineffectual,
and smashed her courage down.
In the yard full of roses, she grew up to be a lily that is isolated,
Where inhumanely she was considered a thorn, and was uprooted like a weed,
This made her shattered and desolated.
With her own imperfections,
She can't be a clone,
Your dialect she can't comprehend,
Because she has her own,
She is distinctive and standing alone.
Let her sprout and blossom at her own pace in this world so wild,
As there is yet time for her to ripe,
Because she is still a child.
Niharika Richard is currently a homemaker whose passion is writing poetry.
Previously published in India Poetry Magazine:
"Stories Inside Her" by Anjali Chaturvedi
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