Fractured Prayer

In the hollowed silence, where whispers break,  

I kneel, my hands both trembling and awake.  

The prayer I speak is fractured, torn,  

A murmur worn by grief, forlorn.

I once called to the heavens with voice unchained,  

But now my words are lost, unclaimed,  

As if the heavens themselves have turned away,  

And left my soul in disarray.

The altar crumbles in a distant haze,  

My spirit falters through the endless maze.  

Each syllable a shard, a broken plea,  

A fragile thread pulled 'cross eternity.

I reach for grace, yet it slips like sand,  

Dissolving through the fractures of my hand.  

The sacred text is stained with doubt,  

Its ink now fading, worn throughout.

Yet still, I rise with each fractured breath,  

Torn between faith and shadowed death.  

For in the ruin, the pieces lie—  

A prayer, reborn beneath a fractured sky.

-Ramisha Jain

11.02.2025

I dedicate this poem to my beloved friend, Meenakshi, who suggested this heartbreakingly beautiful phrase.