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

Kritya is an international journal of poetry publishing contemporary Indian & world poetry Besides, it also features poetry in regional Indian languages in translation To keep continuity with our past, we publish the works of classical masters. Kritya is also a humble initiative from India to make use of the web and the internet as new platform of practicing and disseminating literature

(ISSN 0976-514X)

Poetry Books
  Kritya publication

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At The blossoming of Kritya has been like the sweet unfolding of a cherished dream for all of us working in its background. Kritya was launched in a small but well-attended function in the year 2005. It was a unique gathering because we had the good fortune to have in our midst some well known Malayalam poets, artists and theater personalities like Ayyappa Paniker, Vinaya Chandran, Kavalam Narayan Panikker and B.D Dethan. Our celebration that wonderful evening was enriched with poetry reading in conjunction with painting and drama. At that time, Kritya's stature as it is today was not something we could dream of. But with God's grace and with the blessings of our Masters, we have come a long way discovering the many dimensions of poetry. In our journey, poetry has proved to be a wonderful medium that can touch hearts and make strong and meaningful relationships. We consider this as an enterprise with noble ideals -- we hope to establish and strengthen a fraternity of peace and mutual understanding through the medium of poetry.

Rati Saxena

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Only darkness and shadows,
my eye nerves twitch
in fear of some strange shock.
Countries and numbers change,
colours and tones fade,
my finger rots, my ring grows dull.
Morning slices into the horizon,
everything is frozen and jealous,
as if awating sleep or mercy.
Triin Soomets
An ant,
which I drained out of a birch juice jar
didnít die
nor was it dead,
though I killed it already for the fifth time,
I pressed him to bits between my right hand thumb and
drowned him with tap water
pressed him with a spoon,
but he climbed out of the sink,
Eeva Park
she lives in hotel rooms
her room at the corridor's end
ı think of her walking out of the door.
suitcase in hand
every corner spic and span
never a trace left behind when she leaves
then in another hotel room
a new beginning
Yeshim Agaoglu

Birthed out my mother's small
upside-down chalice of it,
I ran down and down to the Sea
to keep on hearing it waving
without fail...
Mary Krane Derr

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What really fulfills my views on the issue of gender is neither magnification of the question of sexuality nor a marked distinction between what we refer to as the male and female categories but rather a more subtle approach to awareness of gender and the responsibility it engenders.
What are the constituent factors of the ignorance, evasion and eventually the discrimination of the two intertwined genders? How do the roots of a negative thought process run and function within us? And is it possible to find a partial cure for what I may call an immense misery? Do you think women can attain their long lost Rights by growing masculine arms and opting for masculine jobs? Don't men possess these very arms? And haven't these arms been puppets to the power of puppeteers? Hasn't this masculinity been played with? There are many such questions and there is not ample time to pose each one and then attend to them but it seems that the most important answer to the self......

Rira Abbasi
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When you are a woman
You take your ears to the sea
And buy a pair of earrings from her
When you are a woman
On water
On waves
You give yourself altogether

When you are a woman
At the sound of sparrows and starlings
You laugh a bird you jump a starling
When you are a woman
You are a fisherman's net in love with the sea
You weave Leila into Majnoon

Today, when as a whole I became a woman My shoes were blue
My skirt was watery blue
My hair blue, water blue
The mole under my chin was also blue
My head under the water, blue as blue

A drop of a woman I became
and trickled down the earrings of the sea

Shush! Shush!
You have sewn hands to my lips
Ah, I am shushed, I am hissed
Ah, I am a mad mad poet unnoticed
I have washed the Nuclear Arms with dish washing detergent
Should I dry it ?
Rira Abbasi

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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.
Beneath the parasols of the unshrivelled hoods
Sweltered and thirsty
dry throated huge elephants,
To come by cool showers-
just a few drops of water,
Overcoming the fright of the lion
glide about him with no more fear.
Beneath the parasols of the unshrivelled hoods
of the thirsty cobras

now fearless muddy frogs rest

emerging from the ponds.

Joggling thirsty elephants with quick impact
pull out the lotus pedicels and stalks,

frighten the fishes and cranes,

and puddle the water of the pool

with splatter dash.


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(February -2010)

Chief Editor  

Rati Saxena


Dr.Jayasree Ramakrishnan Nair

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