I am Kritya. 
The intense word power,
which always moves along with the ultimate truth, which exists completely in accord with rightness.


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Kritya thinks about life which transforms the words into poetry; I feel that a number of dead words get life when they translate themselves into poetry. Poetry and words have a very unique relationship. Words became powerful in poetry, but poetry is not just words. There is something which gives life to poetry, something more than words. Then from where do these words get power? Vedant says that the word itself is a Supreme Power. Shabdah Brahmah- the shabd is Brahma, and this means creative power. Indian philosophy, especially Vedic philosophy, equates the ‘kavi’ (Poet) to Brahma. Thus ‘kavi’ could be the creator of this universe.

Thus the importance which Vedic philosophy gives to “Shabd-brahman” or “word-creator” is more than what we give to poetry in our times.

Rati Saxena

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Today you are far
from my searching sight.
Day is looking dull,
ahead longer night.
Dictionary has no meaning
for the love of insane.
A drop fallen from eyes
or its a kiss of rain.

Poet. Believer. Infidel.
Lover. Atheist. Bitch

These are mine.

Memories them. Slake tongue
with them. Feed your thirst.
Open them to pure midnight
and turn them to gold.
Anindita Sengupta

So I decide to write something beautiful,
To make your memory a souvenir in my heart,
As I scribble these words I see your apparition,
Smiling soothingly and telling me we are still one,
I take a glance at your picture in my wallet,
The one with the mysterious Mona Lisa smile,
I place a kiss on your picture and fantasize,
My fantasies send me to realms where we meet,

louis kwaku amprako

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Translating poetry is always difficult and problematic. Problems in between South Indian (Dravida group) languages, North Indian and European languages are different and divergent. All Indian languages except Tamil (of course, due to age old historical, political and social reasons) have no aversion for Sanskrit, instead they have an affinity for it like English has for Greek and Hebrew. Not only scholars, but also most of the creative writers-poets in those languages are fondly using Sanskrit words without a feeling of strangeness even they don’t mind to sacrifice oral and dialects in their languages. But Tamils are opposite to this trend, even from the age of Kampan(9th century, another version 12th century) who recreated Valmiki’s Ramayana in to Tamil(Kampa Ramayanam, 885 AD) . Kampan changed the name of ‘ Lekshmanan ‘as ‘Ilakkuvan’, ‘Vibheeshanan’ as ‘Vipidanan’, ‘Suparnan’ as ‘Uvanan’, ‘Akalya’ as ‘Akalikai’ or Aalikai’etc.
Neela Padmanabhan

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When it is said,
Some say.
I say it just
Begins to live
That day.

THE HEART asks pleasure first,
And then, excuse from pain;
And then, those little anodynes
That deaden suffering;

And then, to go to sleep;
And then, if it should be
The will of its Inquisitor,
The liberty to die.

’T WAS such a little, little boat
That toddled down the bay!
’T was such a gallant, gallant sea
That beckoned it away!

’T was such a greedy, greedy wave
That licked it from the coast;
Nor ever guessed the stately sails
My little craft was lost!

I CAN wade grief,
Whole pools of it,—
I ’m used to that.
But the least push of joy
Breaks up my feet,
And I tip—drunken.
Let no pebble smile,
’T was the new liquor,—
That was all!

Emily Dickinson

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The burning sands emit furious heat
afflict the snake, with lowered hood panting,
speeding with crooked creep aggrieved.
Behold ! the snake now with fear no more,
Rests in the shade, at his enemy peacock’s feet.

Malignant heat makes the thirst more acute
and now the king of the jungle of prowess famed,
Forgetting his valour pants perturbed,
Open-mouthed, dangling - tongued, with

quivering manes,

And kills not the nearby elephants too.


With upraised heads and nostrils wide,
bloody dangling tongues and foamy mouths,
the thirsty herds of buffaloes
emerge from the caves of the hills
in search of water,
And leave behind the hovering hoof-crushed dust.


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(March  2008 )

Chief Editor  

Rati Saxena

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