Poem by Paridhi Puri // Photograph by Leanne Surfleet

I walked in bereft melancholy

Over to the temple that rested upon the shoulders of dark red earth

Which hid the coffins of desires

That men released

With a sunken visage o with a sunken heart


I gently grazed the veins of a quartered queue which stood in attention

With resplendent voices of appeal


Please the mosaics that lined the streets of zenith with their fluorescent feels



oh holy color

which blinded me

woven from the whispered prayers of chaos

Of claimed knights



oh tears

Of shrieking shacks of hearts

Burning in gasoline as their

Badly burnt hands seek mercy


I saw glass painted by the hopes of devotion mixed with cruel reality of greed  and sorrow,

I saw thin heaving bridges losing breath as men of reason cut the rugged ropes


My nails bit my palms as I raised those

ruby hands up in reverence

Closed my eyes


Kneel down at the temple of the broken,


To find the fruit of prayers

Which had long lost

Their taste of salvation

to the wind of the time.

Paridhi Puri

Paridhi Puri is a petite 16-year-old INFP who is a bunch of contradictions. An ineffable writer, with deep interest in mythology, history and economics; she is currently serving as the Contribution Seeker of Trouvaille Journal and blog writer at The Culaccino Magazine. She has been published in Changing Tomorrow, Ink Drift and Times of India among others. She believes in equal rights for each person who breathes, and is very vocal about mental health awareness. You can find her writing poetry at The Girth Within or on twitter @theglowofviolet.

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