By Hem Kumari Sharma
She is neither fragile nor robust, but a Survivor,
Caught in an internal conflict with herself at dusk,
And with a world that demands too much at dawn.
Her life could rival the script of the most compelling drama,
A story so profound, it would resonate with hearts far and wide.
And no one could play her role as truthfully
For she is the only one who knows the weight of her journey.
At night, exhaustion finds her in silence ,
A quiet grief that lingers just beyond the surface.
Yet in the quiet of her tears, she finds strength,
A voice that whispers, "keep going, be still."
And she rises again, casting aside the remnants of sorrow.
"What is my fault?" she asks
For she is not the one to yield to the world's demands.
She is judged and bullied for embracing her brown skin.
Called names about her face, frizzy hair
And her modest attire, with judgment to spare.
She fears the hollow gestures of others,
For the world is full of pretenses, where sincerity is rare
And trust is a fragile, fleeting illusion.
She neither trusts the so called humans
Nor the fake friends who wear authenticity like a costume.
Though the world may never fully accept her flaws, her scars and her imperfections
She carries them with quiet dignity.
And little does the world know
She is a nonconformist against its norms and standards of beauty.
Knowing that her strength is forged not in perfection,
but in embracing her unique existence.