She walks unlit between the crowd,
A hush beneath the voices loud.
The hours bruise her open hands,
Bartering breath for small demands.
No desk, no page, no teacher's name—
Just lessons scraped from soot and flame.
Her dreams, like threadbare hems, unwind—
Too delicate for those half-blind.
They do not see the shape she bears—
A rootless bloom that learns to care
For scraps of sky, for drifting sound,
For silence in a world unbound.
The mirror offers her no script,
No birthright carved, no title gripped.
Yet in her chest, a slow-burned spark—
A vow that glows beneath the dark.
Outside, the banyan dares to stay,
Its limbs a home for those astray.
She sees herself in trunk and leaf—
A quiet spine, a growing grief.
What voice is hers, if none reply?
What name survives when none ask why?
Still she persists, unknown, unseen—
A bloom that breaks through concrete green.
This poem is for the girls and women whose brilliance blooms beyond notice—those who learn from hardship, grow without guidance, and carry strength in silence. The Unseen Bloom is a tribute to the quiet, root-deep resilience that refuses to be erased.
Have you ever felt unseen, yet still deeply alive inside? What “small sparks” have helped you keep going in silence? I’d love to hear your reflections—especially on the last stanza and what it evokes for you.
