one tree- with its small hands
and another with its star-laced fingers
brush against the sky
the sky that looks
like a sea
drained of water
offering its long tresses
to the milky moon and the
coal-black darkness
clothes the sky

this, however,
does not prevent crickets,
from shivering with joy
i sit here, thinking of the faint line
between life and death
while their party thickens and blooms

crickets do not carry the burden
of making sense of life
they lick life
here, letting out their song
here, letting out their cries

IIma Quereshi is pursuing a doctorate at the University of Virginia, focusing on Persian poetics and South Asian Literature. Her work has been published in literary journals such as Tafheem, Tareekh-e-Adab-e-Urdu, Active Muse, The Ice Colony, Rigorous Magazine, Tiger Moth Review, and Last Leaves.