Poetry Books
By
Kritya publication
See the link
International Poetry
Festival
Kritya2010
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My mother's love
for guava was connected with the memories of her childhood and
the things she loved most. Giving salt and pepper to me, her
daughter, was an attempt at recalling the taste which she had
lost. Though it was the daughter who was going to taste the
guava, enjoying the vivid memories of a most loved object must
have been very satisfying to the mother.
My mother had to leave her parents’ home in Madhya Pradesh and
come and live in Rajasthan with my father's family. The distance
was considerable, and she could not regularly visit her own
home. But she was always closer to her own home, her own
childhood, and her own relations.
She was in social exile, but ironically she was closer to
everything she had to leave.
I could understand mother's pain, when I had to come to Kerala
after marriage, leaving Rajasthan for ever. The vast sea reminds
me of the desert and dunes every time. I remember those things
more often, which I had never bothered about while living with
them.
Rati Saxena
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An action
taking place in silence,
deep in the blood,
biting through the seed of forms' gestation.
Intimate tremor,
rumor cracking calm acceptance open:
this is fear.
..
Whoever compels another into lustful machineries,
tiny lethal tortures capsizing tenderness,
pure certainties which immolate the blood,
demolition of the house of exile.
Claudia Posadas
*
Earth
Glowing on the
Tip of a green leaf
Where
A sparkle of due drop
Dangle
The halo of wet soil
On a frozen
Moment
Junaith Rahman
*
Somersaults are for real.
At that precise moment
when head's
just an inch off ground,
You realise
You're not two,
But one.
Flipping back,
pretentions arise
Uma Anil
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1. dead poem
living
Can art be distilled from art?'
odd, the swish & trepiditious
& callous & Byronic in its thinginess - this poem is
& the patois of creepy motion, muff
until it becomes vermillion-red
as a rose
dark & jet & passé a Concorde
glibbing away, it wanes
in many an atrophied way - keuhsaurus
& in the sweet hour of tasting the honey
art is smeared out with smudged fringes - bees
work this way as well - most of their fabrications
too
are stark imaginary stand-ins
for Muses-to-be, Tristia, not?
a copied case?
2. gluey force of duice
‘the days are vessels full of remnants
of pissing past pains and tenses'
- Mannekin
when Koen Stein did his extraction
& the image he achieved by it proved that there was
& something was wrong with it, observation
& Scientific Nature articles were written about it
& it had that double-faced surface
Argo Spier
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A poet
Heavy load as a hill
Shouldered a poet.
Having had a strong will,
Makes his way a poet.
So, the world, full of pain,
Put aside a poet.
Working with might and main,
Sings as birds a poet.
To my mother tongue
The nightingale's singing is
Entire, has not changed at all.
A threat of danger here is
A poor parrot to be called.
I put the nightingale's song,
Undoubtedly , the verse into.
The day you die, my mother tongue,
I will become a parrot too!Mother
A star felt down suddenly,
It means an earthy life has gone.
But such a grief we bear easily,
A human being thus was done.
Sometimes I stare in the skies
Remembering my mother's face.
But, not a star, as soon she dies,
Will down crash, the outer space!
Abdulla Oripov
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DAWN
Awake, Radha, awake,
Calls the parrot and its love.
For how long must you sleep,
Clasped to the heart of your Dark-stone?
Listen. The dawn has come
And the red shafts of the sun
Are making us shudder..
------------------------
RIVER AND SKY
0 friend, I cannot tell you
Whether he was near or far, real or a dream.
Like a vine of lightning,
As I chained the dark one,
I felt a river flooding in my heart.
Like a shining moon,
I devoured that liquid face.
I felt stars shooting around me.
The sky fell with my dress,
Leaving my ravished breasts.
I was rocking like the earth.
In my storming breath
I could hear my ankle-bells,
Sounding like bees.
Drowned in the last waters of dissolution,
I knew that this was not the end.
Says Vidyapati:
How can I possibly believe such nonsense?
*
O friend, friend, take me with you.
I am only a young girl,
No one can stop him
So violent a lover is he.
My heart shudders to go near him.
How the black-bee ravishes the lotus-bud.
Vidyapati
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