Devanshi Khetarpal lives in New York where she is an undergraduate, studying Comparative Literature and Creative Writing, at New York University. She is the editor-in-chief of Inklette Magazine, a poetry reader for Blueshift Journal and assistant poetry editor for Minetta Review. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Washington Square News, Indian Literature, Vayavya, and Souvenir among others. Her poetry collection, “Small Talk” is forthcoming from Writers Workshop, Kolkata, next year.


All day
the winter light
lies on my back
like a stranger
coming to your door,
asking for apology

Water Birds

the sound of the tabla crackles on the ears
like a thousand little water birds
leaping stone to stone

When loving

I know you by
the sound of you
a river // longing
to be the soft, growing
forest //
dying, you place
your faith in everything.


It will happen one day that I
meet you, as another one, as
a name, unheard of and with
meaning changed. You might
think I have been stolen. You
might go looking for me in the
darkest clefts, hoping I answer
your call. But each time, I shall
pass by the ring in your voice,
and pray I find you here. Again.

Image – Soumyajit Pramanick

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