Poetry Books
By
Kritya publication
See the link
International Poetry Festival
- Kritya2010
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Darkness and
fear--these two words though different, evoke similar feelings.
These feelings force man to move away from these situations. The
world’s oldest available book Rig-Veda talks about the creation
of the world from darkness. As it says, there was only Darkness
that was also covered by Darkness.
"Darkness there was: at first concealed in darkness all was
indiscriminate chaos. All that existed then was void and
formless: by the great power of warmth was born that Unit.
Thereafter rose desire in the beginning, desire, the primal seed
and germ of spirit. Seers who searched their heart for wisdom
discovered the kinship between the being and non being".
Man's journey is to get away from the "Darkness", from the
darkness of emotion through creativeness, the darkness of
situation through science, and darkness of mind through
knowledge. Society, culture, languages, literature, art and
sculptures and religions, all were the tools which man utilized
to overpower darkness of all types.
Rati saxena
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bad girls
go
to the bad girls' heaven
where they can do whatever they want
play whatever they want
have whatever they want
kiss whoever they want
mix up everything
there is no difference
between bad girl' heaven
and earth
Triin Soomets
*
Dancing In the December Sun
I know it is for a moment only.
The crisp wind winding the wobbling bones
Captures the sleeping smiles,
This lonely heart measures
The cold merciless borders,
I look above, December Sun, deny the murmurs;
She smiles and I smile too.
Contours the snowy eyes,
Skies.
Raining.
Pearl-like
Tears
I know it's for a moment only.
Arun Budhathoki
*
It is really amazing that
from such numbers as
one and zero –
being and nothingness,
Heaven and Hell are born.
George Trialonis
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The
anatomical politics of our body has hung the ears on the outside
and enrooted the tongue inside. The tongue speaks from within
but is welcomed (heard) outside. The ears listen externally but
perceive sounds as voices only internally. Therefore the
interchangeable positions of listener/storyteller,
writer/reader, and questioner/replier are all ritually
commemorated in the individual as "I" who is at times also the
addressed "you".
*
In the
ritual of writing, though the shaky hand of the poet initially
takes off from the instable fear of an "I", it eventually lands
in a stable faith of a "you". The ontological fear that every
poet/writer wrestles with when at the brink of his/her literary
quest is that whether he/she will be able to rediscover and fill
up the papery void with the "let there be" wand of his/her pen
and thus transform undecipherable sounds into discernable words.
If a poem is that complete moment when the poet/narrator, the
poem/text and the reader / listener become one spiritual unity
that walks up the road to life which is perpetually shadowed by
clouds of death, ...
Maryam
Ala Amjadi
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She still
fastens the knots tightly
She still buttons up
In runaway shoes
in that phase before wrinkle and hanging
a female, in simple footwear takes the name of a street
A body that is not yet in shreds
gets in
and a soul gets out from the other end
*
Here flight is always delayed
in the bow and arrow of war lanes
or the flowery skirt of cloth lines
Butterflies age anyhow
at least give back my childhood photo!
Stranger than the paper kite that remained in the trunk
I get stamped and I long for home
The antennas target the sky
but on the cloth line my heart embraces God.
*
When noon went up
When the clock put one leg on the other
I told myself
death could wait
till unsaid words are said
we waited so long for tomorrow
until night faded away from our hair
Now it snows
and death should wait
Granaz Mousavi
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THE LOTUS SMILED
... On all my limbs
Were spells of love.
What strength I needed
To arrest desire.
My quivering breasts
I hid with trembling hands
As all my body glowed.
No longer could I check my passion
And the shut lotus bloomed in smiles.
FLASH OF EYES
You have stolen the moon,
o lovely face,
Your honour is at stake.
Restrain your glances.
Let no one see you,
Lest Riihu eat you
Mistaking you for the moon.
Your eyes flash
With black mascara,
Making glances
Sharp as arrows. . . .
You have stolen nectar.
You have stolen the moon. . .
But where will you put it
So brightly does it shine?
DARKNESS AND RAIN
Clouds break.
Arrows of water fall
Like the last blows
That end the world.
The night is thick
With lamp-black for the eyes.
Who but you, 0 friend,
Would keep so late a tryst?
The earth is a pool of mud
With dreaded snakes at large.
Darkness is everywhere,
Save where your feet
Flash with lightning.
Vidyapati- Part -III
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