She was beautiful,
not because she was the epitome of grace,
neither for the aura she displayed
when she walked on the pave,
nor for the gorgeous dresses
she meticulously drapes,
and not for wearing the perfect smile
hiding all the surging rile

She was beautiful,
for everything she didn’t
force to subscribe,
and for displaying
what her mind prescribed

Like the vernacular verse
she wore in her colloquial thoughts,
or singing out loud
without worrying about the crowd,
and for the endless emotions
she relentlessly showed,
like crying and smiling together
as her heart bestowed

And for the sand dunes, she built,
and for the dreams, she conceived,
and for not caring who was there to watch,
she was beautiful for who she was

Copyright © Shantanu Baruah

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