Artless, I worshipped a faith that had arisen in love;
zamaana asked, is it prudent to be so brazen in love?
“A storm in a teacup,” “a battle against the world”;
they told me the scale of events has no comparison in love.
Shashi Kapoor lobbed his dimpled smile on the silver screen;
for six-year-old me, that begat the bliss I envisioned as love.
On the potholed sadak, tar coalesced in unrelenting loo heat;
the clotted clumps, to teenaged me, seemed airless prisons of love.
The snow-capped peaks of the Kanchenjunga were shrouded;
that morning, the clouds were committing treason in love.
An untamed wind of acceptance haunted the Kashmiri vaadi;
that unclaimed frontier that lay beyond expectation in love.
In dreams, the desolate rann of the afterlife enticed me;
were its empty offices to be our only liaison in love?
In its not needing, this mukhauta betrays its need of you;
is this state of unbeing yet another season in love?
Life rattles on like a pack of dice, “sab moh maya hai”;
why then, Preeti, go about looking for reason in love?
Contributor Notes
Preeti Parikh is a poet and essayist currently pursuing her Master of Fine Arts in creative writing degree at the Rainier Writing Workshop at Pacific Lutheran University. Her poems are published in or are forthcoming from journals such as Mom Egg Review, Literary Mama, Ruminate Magazine, and others. Preeti’s poem “integument” was recently a finalist for the 2019 Janet B. McCabe Poetry Prize. Born and raised in India, Preeti now lives in Ohio with her family. More details about her work can be found at preetiparikh.com.
