
What’s in a rose?
By Prajakta Paranjpe I was the rose, or was Ibecause was it only those whose bloodmatched mine who saw me

By Prajakta Paranjpe I was the rose, or was Ibecause was it only those whose bloodmatched mine who saw me

Three poems for the Poetry Salon by Prajakta Paranjpe I don’t live in this language anymore that was the medium

Prajakta Paranjpe My first impression of America, as a fresh immigrant cooped up in a tiny studio apartment on snowy