By-Aditi Dhar Choudhury


A young girl, all of sixteen,

Huddled up in a corner;

She’d sit there, waiting,

Hoping, somebody would call her.


She had friends, galore,

Everybody knew her name;

But most didn’t talk to her anymore,

Things had begun to change.


She fell, in a pit deep,

Couldn’t get out, needed help;

Nobody could see her weep,

Because, everybody had left.


She called out, but in vain,

Nobody seemed to care enough;

None empathized with her pain,

Maybe, all she needed, was a hint of love.


The young girl, is now nineteen,

Still lonely in a crowded world;

Till date, she remains unseen,

I know, because I’m that girl.



This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn


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