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I feel Kritya has drawn power from both
those who like it and those who preferred to ignore it. This
brings to mind the words of Billy Collins, which I strongly
believe: “Novelists, playwrights, painters and others may hold
in their heads the expectation of fame, but not poets. Having
chosen that road, all one can dream of is the jealousy of one's
rivals. Celebrity is unexpected and almost unseemly--it forces
one to wear a constant look of chagrin, if that is possible.
Unless you are Byron, who was the first poet to become a star.
At its worst, fame means being known by strangers--enough to
bring on waves of paranoia.”
Rati Saxena
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I am the wind,
gently caressing a brow,
sassy in my attempt
to blow hair in tangles,
spirited as I interact with others,
blustery when confronted by anger,
quiet when faced with hurricane forces.
Sharon
The wind makes a harp of mountain folds
while ocean tides drum the cliffs.
Clouds, snow, moonlight, sunbeams listen.
The mountain stands high and strong,
fencing valley and plateau,
holding earth still.
Aliya Ma Lynn
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Poetry is pure happiness for those who love it, for others it is
something that does not matter. To me who loves poetry, a good
poem is a total experience like a sunrise or the moon at the
edge of the sea. You see it as a whole, you feel it as a whole,
and after the first shock of joy, after the first long thrill of
discovery you consciously enjoy it bit by bit, line by line,
stanza after stanza
B Hrdaya
Kumari
It is important for the poet
not to be emotional because you cannot see the world clearly
with tears in your eyes.
Billy Collins
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#
Between word and word, plenty
of difference.
Chrn out the essence-word.
Without the essence-word, says Kabir,
what life do you lead?
Shame!
#
Hit by the word, one fell down,
another dropped his kingdom.
Whoever can discern the word,
his work is done.
#
Those who reached this town and didn't
get supplies got caught
in a storm, after dark,
where they couldn't
get supplies.
Kabir
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The whole of my grief is love for you,
love, love for you;
My heart is broken to atoms: it has become blood, all blood.
My very vitals have become gorged with red, red blood,
Though clothed outwardly in white, all white!
KhwajahMuhammad, Bangash
What shall I say to anyone about the anguish of separation,
Since it has not left within me even the power to complain?
Since every injury she heaps upon me is right and lawful,
Let the proud one stand face to face with me at least once?
Ashraf Khan, Khattak
Judge: "Why do you do an act so odd?"
Thief: "Why do you drink of people's blood?"
Parvin Etesami
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