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

KRITYA2008 special Issue
 

Poetry Books
By
  Kritya publication

See the link
 

      

 

 

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 enduring resolutions.
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 exchange views.

Rati Saxena

More »

 
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:
Triin Soomets

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
Margus Lattik

now
where you sit
in the soft chair
receiving your days
They line up alongside you
and say
Look at me
And you look
and live each of your days
another time
in hours minutes and seconds
This is how you gradually
abolish time
Odveig Klyve
More »
 

The place of our walks
fell outside time,
protected,
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
gulls cried.
Our talk filled
an emptiness
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
falling.
*
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

By

Linda Benninghoff

More »

 

Take good 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 nights.
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 power.
The moment you fall asleep
if will carry you on a cloud

Ramakanta Rath

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.
Stutters.
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.

 Kunwar Narain

 

More »

 

And 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 abstracts.
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.

himanshu vyas

More »

VOL -IV / PART - VII

(November - 2008 )
 

Chief Editor  

Rati Saxena

My Voice | Poetry In Our Time | In The Name Of Poetry | Editor's Choice | Our Masters
 
Who We Are | Back Issues | Submission | Contact Us