The dead flowers,
crawling into my spine,
the spoilt, on my every breath.
My veins coloured with that
black cloud,
once blue,
It turned out it was only my hues.
My empathetic heart,
divine, as all called,
descended with me, the only thing I had left behind.
Crowned my own queen,
long rein the melancholy in me,
dazzling from within, the real power of me.
I left a trail,
if you follow,
a sea of vows,
strings of eternity,
sprinkled with my naivety,
if only it could ever last.
Find me,
beneath the crushed chaos,
but don't call me back,
I am a poet,
this is my purgatory.
- Madhura Joshi
Oct 20, 2025
Oct 20, 2025 at 6:23 AM UTC
The dead flowers,
crawling into my spine,
the spoilt, on my every breath.
My veins coloured with that
black cloud,
once blue,
It turned out it was only my hues.
My empathetic heart,
divine, as all called,
descended with me, the only thing I had left behind.
Crowned my own queen,
long rein the melancholy in me,
dazzling from within, the real power of me.
I left a trail,
if you follow,
a sea of vows,
strings of eternity,
sprinkled with my naivety,
if only it could ever last.
Find me,
beneath the crushed chaos,
but don't call me back,
I am a poet,
this is my purgatory.
- Madhura Joshi
This poem is about how agony, melancholy and grief become your salvation. The poet in me which reigns in this purgatory, the one who wants to be seen but never rescued.
