Dr Agnishekhar stressed the need to keep pace with the
changing times in terms of literature as well. Literature or
more appropriately languages, which are a means of
communication, are also changing in the era of “Globalization”
and “Industrialization.” He mentioned that Kritya is keen on
presenting the best Indian poetry - this particular issue of
Dogari is important not only for readers of Dogari literature,
but for readers in other languages also, as more and more people
can read literature of the Dogari language. Thus Kritya will try
to cover all Indian languages one by one.
As editor of Kritya, I explained the future plans of Kritya .
Kritya is not a web journal but an institute, which tries to
bring Indian literature on the world map and world literature
for Indian readers. Thus we are making our place on the world
stage. The next issue of Kritya will be in Kashmere language (in
Hindi section); we will bring out world literature also in the
The collective mind
help me gather
to make the earth
a friend of snow.
A gentle face
against a lonesome wood,
and blanched sky,
something to believe in.
Poets live to an old age
Though they're always getting killed off
they are still around.
with fools and lumpens in these selfish times
thrusting poetry books into their hands
poets laugh for days on end
they howl first and then turn silent
but the cursed poems never shut up
Poets find birds in children
and girls in birds
and flowers in girls
collect the seeds of all they've seen
and sow themselves together with the seeds
Poets hide like seeds
only to return in new forms
Byron's poetic activity during these
years, however, was not confined to pieces occasioned by his
personal life. lie had embarked in 1812 on the series of tales
which acted like heady wine on his public. Of this group of
poems `The Giaour' and `Mazeppa' are fully representative. All
the characteristic in-gredients of the genre are present. The
Giaour's face bears the necessary imprint of past grief:
Dark and unearthly is the scowl
That glares beneath his dusky cowl.
The flash of that dilating eye
Reveals too much of times gone by...
A. S. B. GLOVER
Silence is a dream;
An awareness of pain;
A lamp for the darkness
Of the heart;
Not moulded by lips,
Not tasted by the tongue;
Which will sing only when
To the garden of desires.
Today, the words
Are only words,
A dance of fingers
On the harp of the soul,
A melody of desire,
Soundless and formless.
Wearing the robe
Of man's blood,
Offers the mirage of hope
To those who cannot see.
SHE walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace,
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!