A Tale | Nirali Bandaru

Because she wore mismatched clothes,
and nerdy glasses, too big for her face.
She had no sense of humor,
knew no trends, and had no taste.
Her laugh was hideous,
and her curves absent.
She longed to be a full moon,
but was only a crescent.
She picked food in her braces,
with her bare hands,
had tacky sense of fashion,
wore a yellow shirt, with green pants.
She knew people didn’t like
her obsessions, her endless rants.
Yet she weaved her way through
known, yet alien lands.

They didn’t understand,
didn’t, next to her, stand.
They made her a laughing stock,
to them, she was but a rock.
She tried her best, she did.
But, they made her life a tortuous ride.
She was someone she wanted to hide,
so I threw her to the side.

She wears blazers, and high heels, now,
and doesn’t stumble on the stairs.
She has sparkly, golden eyelids,
and ombré brown hair.
She gets them affectionate letters,
every now and then,
all masked with loveless lust;
she trusts no boys, no men.
She thought she found her one true love,
who later found a truer girl,
broke her heart, broke her trust;
she wished to live in a better world.
She cried often, smiled less.
Looking in the mirror,
she found herself,
and knew her newfound self was but an error.

She slipped into those slacks,
put her hair up in a bun.
She wiped off her lipstick,
and burned their picture under the sun.
No longer a diva,
no longer a babe.
She was but the girl who loved everything weird;
she was herself again, and everything he’d craved.

The first time he’d seen her,
she fell from the stairs.
She was awkward and clumsy,
she wore tacky clothes, had messy hair.
He’d watched her from far away,
couldn’t get enough of her;
He blushed when she talked to him,
his words were slurred, and he often stuttered.
But one day, her lips were more red,
and her shirt too tight.
She wore a mini-skirt,
was taller, and walked too right.
He watched her as she fell,
this time, deep into “his” arms ,
as far as he could tell,
she was under the spell of fake charms.

He saw her cry, and bleed.
He wanted her back, he did.
He wished to see her again, bumbling;
he yearned to see that girl she carefully hid.
He smiled at her as she left, with tear-filled eyes.
She smiled back, but he could hear her heart’s cries.
The next time he saw her,
she had black, wavy, un-straightened hair.
She wore her oversized glasses,
and again, stumbled on the stairs.
He gazed at her, smiling,
as she looked around, wishing no one had seen,
he ran over to help her,
held out a hand and was happier than he’d ever been.

He loved her wacky walk,
and loved her more when she talked.
He was to her an ointment to heal
her heart, and her heart he was, beginning to steal.
He found her heart, piece by piece,
showed her the affection, she thought was rare.
I fell, this time, for truer charms, and
before I knew it, love was in the air.

Indian Literature and Poetry | Nirali Bandaru writes for Indian Review. Visit and find more authors to read from. Enjoy the literature from around the world.