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In this time
of global crisis, we are all looking forward to a society
oriented towards esthetic and wise solutions to keep ourselves
from many kinds of artificial problems. And this was our aim at
the Poetry Festival, Kritya 2008. In this land of ancient
culture, we were there to reorganize and regenerate ourselves
with the help of poetic thought. Poetry is indeed the most
neglected but most important path to real knowledge and
understanding in modern society. It is a human approach that
will help us understand our universe, environment, society and
self. This is the understanding which would lead us to more
Kritya Festival's unalloyed mission is to achieve harmony, both
cultural and linguistic. It will widen the scope and reach of
global literature, arts and culture, and fulfill its goal of
promoting the aesthetic experience through poetry and the allied
art forms. It will also provide a common forum for poetry-lovers
all over the world to come together, showcase their talents and
Come to my grave,
at the edge of the abyss.
Too near the edge: I will slide down.
Come to my grave by the flowing water,
bind my tainted body with its own slime.
It doesn't matter: I am awake.
Take your hand from between my legs, it doesn't belong to me:
rivers be rivers
the sun is high over the mountains
your mythical songs
have resounded for long
in the beautiful bosom of valleys
you the unseen
and utterly purest
perhaps it was you
who sang the sun out
I followed you true
for yes I believed you
when I heard you sing
that all I would want to find
is my own blood
where you sit
in the soft chair
receiving your days
They line up alongside you
Look at me
And you look
and live each of your days
in hours minutes and seconds
This is how you gradually
The place of our walks
fell outside time,
as if no one died there
or was sick,
and if they were lost
we could find them.
When things failed for me
I went to see you.
You didnít seem fifty-four,
your face lifted up to sunlight
as I spoke to you.
At the boardwalk
Our talk filled
I was always feeling
and still feel,
like the splintered wooden railings
chafing against my thick hands.
Walking down avenues
I remember your eyes
blue with traces of light,
your long hands
floating like leaves
The Christmas cactus has only one bloom
this year, as if it is grieving for you,
as I grieve,
remembering how before you fell ill,
you drew your jacket up
to shelter me in the woods
at the onset of a storm.
Elegies for Mary
care of the green word I gave you. If the day is too hot, keep
it under some shade.
You 'Surely haven't forgotten
I collected it from the forest's youth after several sleepless
If it wilts and dies,
the road to many memories will be buried under sand.
Keep the blue word inside your dream. It has miracle - making
The moment you fall asleep
if will carry you on a cloud
Wheatish-complexion, rustic ways,
on his brow the scar of a wound,
height not under five feet,
talks as if he has never known grief.
His age? Somewhat more than many thousand years, he says.
Looks a bit crazed Ė but isnít.
Has often fallen off heights and got all broken up
Hence, when seen, will look pieced together
like the map of India.
meditative are the milieu and moments when one meets this
energy. The mountain meets it in the winding river that never
stops but ever comes. An Arti V Kadam allows this energy to
impart 'Anima' or 'Mahima' to her realistic sculptures. An Amit
Kalla meets the same energy in the last stroke of brush he
always leaves on his work - the 'Bindu' (dot), which suddenly
imparts a dance to the unpredictable forms waiting on the
canvas. A Daniel Connell discovers this energy in absorbed
landscapes shying from shapes. While a Divya Pandey eyes this
same energy in tiny elements that add meaning to her dominant
The surprising moods of energy Yogendra Kumar Purohit divulges
in his juxtaposition of blue and yellow on popular modern
motifs. Does it come from the blue nights over golden yellow of
his Bikaneri desert ? Is Amit's canvas a confluence of Tantra
and Bhakti free of the post modern air? Is Vijendra
post-impressionist or Kaustubha skirting surrealism? Such
academic dissection and definition leads to an an acdemic
question ? Is art frog!
May the academician know! May be yes, may be no?who knows. While
viewers? Let's be energy, let's just watch, let's just dance;
for energy is not ? to know.