Sameer Gudhate presents the Book Review of The Heart of a Lioness by Gargi Sonawane

There’s something profoundly stirring about poetry that doesn’t just speak—it listens. It listens to generations of silence, to buried memories, to voices that were always there but never heard. That’s the feeling I got as I turned the pages of The Heart of a Lioness by Gargi Sonawane. This isn’t a collection that begs for attention—it commands it quietly, with poise and power.

Gargi Sonawane’s name might be new to some, but if these poems are any indication, she’s here to stay. Her words are rooted in lived experiences, especially those of women who’ve been dismissed, doubted, or diminished. And yet, every poem refuses to be bitter—it chooses to be brave.

At its core, The Heart of a Lioness isn’t just poetry—it’s a reckoning. Through a series of emotionally rich poems, Sonawane breathes life into characters like Kiara, who isn’t fictional—she is fragments of us. The collection seems to follow Kiara’s evolution from suppressed daughter to a queen of her own making. These aren’t poems for quiet corners; they’re the kind that demand to be underlined, reread, and felt in your bones.

Gargi’s writing is sharp without being loud, elegant without trying too hard. She leans into imagery and repetition in a way that feels intentional, like an echo through time. There’s a rhythm to her pain—and her hope. One of my favourite aspects is how she uses language like a mirror. It doesn’t hide the blemishes. It reflects them until they shimmer with strength.

Kiara, the recurring presence in the collection, is not just a character—she’s a canvas. Through her, Gargi sketches every girl who’s ever been told “don’t” when she wanted to “do,” every daughter who’s been passed over for a son, every woman who’s had to grow fangs just to survive. The transformation of Kiara—from a neglected girl to someone who reshapes her world—is handled with subtlety and raw grace.

The structure of the book reads like a quiet crescendo. There’s a sense of movement, not in time, but in emotional gravity. While each poem stands on its own, together they form a deeply personal arc. Kiara’s growth doesn’t shout—it unfolds. The pacing is meditative, which gives you space to breathe, to cry, to reflect.

This is a book about identity. About how a girl learns to stand tall in a house that tried to keep her small. It’s about legacy—not the one handed down, but the one rebuilt from ash and will. Themes of gender bias, resilience, and the need for self-recognition pulse through every page. And yet, it never becomes preachy. Instead, it nudges you gently: “Do you see it too?”

There were lines that stayed with me long after I’d closed the book. One poem opened with Kiara not being held like her brothers. That alone stopped me cold. I could feel the sting of that absence—not just as Kiara, but as someone who’s seen this story play out in too many households. And yet, instead of despair, there’s defiance. That balance of pain and pride—that’s the emotional muscle of this book.

Gargi’s greatest strength lies in her ability to universalize the deeply personal. Her words feel familiar, even if the experiences aren’t yours exactly. The pacing, the control, the imagery—they all serve the story of becoming. Of breaking and blooming.

If I had to offer one critique, it would be that the collection leans heavily on one narrative lens. While powerful, a bit more variety in tone or theme could have added texture. But then again, that laser focus is also what makes it so potent.

I didn’t expect to feel seen by this book. But I did. I’ve known girls like Kiara—quietly fierce, deeply feeling, carrying burdens no one notices until they break or bloom. That’s the magic here—it’s not just her journey. It’s ours.

Reading The Heart of a Lioness felt like sitting beside someone who finally says aloud the things we’ve all been too afraid to name—shame, longing, resilience, and rage. Kiara’s pain isn’t exaggerated, and her courage isn’t glorified; it’s just… real, raw, and achingly familiar. In her silence, I heard echoes of girls I grew up with—some who made it, some who didn’t, and some still clawing their way through the dark. This isn’t just fiction; it’s a mirror many won’t realize they’ve been missing.

The Heart of a Lioness isn’t just a title—it’s a heartbeat. Gargi Sonawane has penned something brave, something bruised, and something beautiful. I’d recommend it to anyone who’s ever had to unlearn silence. I hope Gargi keeps writing. We need more voices like hers—unapologetic, poetic, and lionhearted.

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