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

) * All the legal application should be filed in Kerala, India, where the Kritya Trust is registered.
 

(ISSN 0976-514X)

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The therapeutic powers of poetry have already been established over the ages, with the Roman physician Soranus qualifying for the name of the first poetry therapist by prescribing tragedy for his manic patients and comedy for the depressed patients. The important considerations when providing poetry therapy are whether the recipient is ready for it, and whether it is opportune. Appropriately administered poetry therapy is beneficial for diverse people. The elderly comprise a group that is subject to corruption of the body as well as the mind. This decay is often best addressed by persuading them to read or listen to inspiring and motivating poetry. Research shows that creative writing including poetry has a positive impact on functioning at the corporal, emotional and cognitive levels. It is believed that through the written and spoken words, poetry facilitates self discovery, speeding up healing and restoring self esteem and onfidence. There are instances of geriatric patients recovering from bouts of depression and reclaiming normalcy with the beneficial touch of poetry. Writing and reading about the themes of loneliness, loss and death help to connect with others with similar experiences and express themselves freely.

Needless to say, poetry therapy can be provided only by trained personnel. The right poem with its distinct form and shape, images, words, and sounds enables to establish a link between the unconscious and the conscious. It brings forth deeply embedded feelings and emotions, affecting an inner catharsis and eventually endowing the blessed touch of healing and rejuvenation.


Jayasree Ramakrishnan Nair

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It might rain.
In the telltale shimmer of
dying flowers, the
petals on this polished floor
scratching against the wooden door.
Clanging bottles. City sounds.
In the bottom of my glass
(when almost nothing is left)
all I see is your resentment
(those eyes, oh, the knives)
Perhaps that's my fear, oh dear.

Monosyllabic and cynical
the line of conversation
hangs on a string so loose
that my words never seem
to reach your ears.
Or yours mine.

Purvai Aranya

*
"I shot an arrow into the air.
It fell to earth,
I knew not where;
For so swiftly it flew that marvelous flight,
A moment's glory and out of sight

I breathed a song into the air.
It fell to earth,
I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of a song.

Long, long afterward,
Stuck in an oak
I found the arrow
Still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end
I found again in the heart of a friend."
Obaidullah Baheer
*
Songs for the flowers,
Songs for the fruits,
Songs for the vegetables,
Coffee songs and gaming songs.
The unheard tales and untold experiences
Are faded in the graceful smiles and sweeping words.
Jyothsnaphanija

*Between the night and day
I will go
for an icarian fall.

A commitment to resistance
was over. I am
melting under the moon.
Hold my hand. A
dramatic front was ready
to destroy me.
Celebrating the death
was an intense mistake. It
was becoming a practice run
for the hangman
to sharpen his skill. There
was a long row of sinners.
SATISH VERMA
and More Ľ

 
When you look at the sea
there are ships in your eyes
I only see water and foam
a cutoff line

on the border of the sky and sea

In the deepness of your eyes

two ships recede into the distance

* * *
Now I should make jam

The plums are ready

Autumn is ready
Iím not

*
During the last five years

time has been speeding up

with the addition of the flu, ringing in my ears, pneumonia,

radiculitis, a trumpet, drums, glaucoma, high blood pressure,

the timpani ring

in the end a whole orchestra

plays such a mindless tune

*
I am who I am

shameless deceitful timid

and still you water me

with your morning light

Panic

And that will happen now?

When there`s no electricity.

The screen is black

And there is no light to be seen in whole village.

Everything is quiet,

Evan that, which I didn`t notice before the murmuring.

Aldo the radio in the kitchen.

And now?

What will happen to me?

In this quiet twilight.

That very word almost slipped mu mind.
I sit listening.
I sit oddly.
Time stands still.

For the moment, For the century.
And that is happening now?
Eeva Park
Translated by Jayde Will

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the skin on my hands conceives intricate ideograms
that I decipher patiently
clumsy
sparkling
wildly exalted and proud
or overwhelmed by terrifying pain

I am what I am

THE TWO DWARFS

I

Quite late I understood that not only does one not contiinue to grow, but that one

shrinks, not in the shoulders, butall over.

Someone who hadn't seen me in some time said to me: "I thought you were much

taller." Then I began to have to stand on tiptoes in order to grab hold of things that I

used to reach normally. Now I live in the cracks of the baseboard.

To see the world from below. How to reach, the clouds, the table, his mouthís evasion.

II
THE DWARF ON THE BERCY BRIDGE

for Guadalupe Lara

Since I am a dwarf I can

clearly make out when the Seine because of the barges

parts the water right down the middle

When it cleaves a path
When it pretends not to notice the furrow or the wake
and each side rolls almost to the shore

The Seine is a dark, taciturn river
and treacherous for those who surrender their crimes, treasures

and secrets there.

Sometimes it happens to cast up a quick, bright sparkle

especially when it approaches Our Lady
and languidly spreads out like a peacock

but you shouldnít rely on it, I repeat

Thatís what the clouds warned me

and since I am a dwarf I play

a hand of tute with them
The clouds are very lively

Whatever I tried to do
they always won
until now because Im going
to give them a piece of my mind.
Luisa Futoransky

 
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Faiz Ahmed Faiz

Let Me Think

You ask me about that country whose details now escape me,
I don't remember its geography, nothing of its history.
And should I visit it in memory,
It would be as I would a past lover,
After years, for a night, no longer restless with passion,
With no fear of regret.
I have reached that age when one visits the heart merely as a courtesy.

Loneliness

Someone is at the door again, my weeping heart, no, no one
Perhaps a passerby, who will go somewhere else

The night has passed, waiting, the star-dust is settling
Sleepy candle-flames are flickering in distant palaces
Every pathway has passed into sleep, tired of waiting
Alien dust has smudged all traces of footsteps

Blow out the candles, let the wine and cup flow
Close and lock your sleepless doors

No one, no one will come here now.


Last night by

Last night your lost memory visited my heart
as spring visits the wilderness quietly,
as the breeze echoes the silence of her footfalls
in the desert,
as peace slowly, softly descends on one's sickness.

I am being accused of loving you, that is all
It is not an insult, but a praise, that is all

My heart is pleased at the words of the accusers
O my dearest dear, they say your name, that is all

For what I am ridiculed, it is not a crime
My heart's useless playtime, a failed love, that is all

I haven't lost hope, but just a fight, that is all
The night of suffering lengthens, but just a night, that is all

In the hand of time is not the rolling of my fate
In the hand of time roll just the days, that is all

A day will come for sure when I will see the truth
My beautiful beloved is behind a veil, that is all

The night is young, Faiz start saying a Ghazal
A storm of emotions is raging inside, that is all
when Autumn Came
This is the way that autumn came to the trees:
it stripped them down to the skin,
left their ebony bodies naked.

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VOL- VIII/ ISSUE -VIX
( June--2013)
 

Chief Editor  

Rati Saxena

Editor
Dr.Jayasree Ramakrishnan Nair

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