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


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I think it is true, that we start enjoying pain after such incidents. We will translate them into music, art, or poetry. The question is, can we do something before such incidents take place? The answer will be "yes," but again the question will be "how"? Can we adopt constructive measures to stop violence and war? Can we use art in such a way that we all start enjoying love and friendship? This does not mean that art is only for happiness, it should also highlight the darkness of society. Art should act as a mirror accentuating all the shades of society, but at the same time it should underline hope, happiness and friendship. We cannot assure the success of art hundred percent. But the message given by art is most important in these times. I feel that in this age of vindictiveness, an artist or a poet (a writer may be) should come forward to take responsibilities. It is not the time to brood over the unfortunate events, reveling in our own pain. It is not the time to live in our own world, ....
Rati Saxena

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One day I paint a self-portrait
Of someone else. I say to her,
'You live this life.' I walk away
Singing the red-winged
Blackbirdís song for dawn.
Pat Hogan King
Do you believe
Survival instinct will die
Faith will fade away
Dream will perish
Words will go in vain .
VishvaNath prasad Tiwari
Correct me once
For one mistake
And I will hear
Correct me twice
And I will hear you, too
But I cannot help
But close my ear
If you correct me
Ten times for
Each single
Margaret Boles

I stretch out the water
in which you are reflected.
With a shout to stop
all possible outflows.
I address you by breath
such release of speech.
Until you are glassy with ice before me...
Pavol Janik

Each winter
A redness
Appears on my palms..
I wish I could stalk
The melancholy
Buried beneath
The frozen
Criss-crossed lines..
Neha Misra
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It is tough writing about poetry. Our understanding about poetry is diverse and always evolving. From ancient theories of Bhartrihari's "Sabdatattva" to Derrida's "differance" in spoken and inscribed language, poetry has shown possibilities that we are still exploring. As our observations about the world around us gets stratified, condensed and co-opted, our poetry grows like vines over old or new structures, whether as part of our conscious landscaping or willful neglect.
What can we do in the name of poetry? Very simple things, almost un-esoteric and rather commonplace until it turns into a rhythm guiding us deeper inside our own selves and making us see the external world as a magnanimous companion to our variegated existence. Here's a list I once made about what we could or I could do in the name of poetry:...

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You'll be a meadow again

The emptiness-stretched
across the sky of your eye-is me
and upon me, dwells
the leafless stem of your being.

dwell upon me
like a prayer
and dissolve in the rhythm of this void

only then
in this sky will the clouds gather-
and you will be nurtured with your own water, again,
and wear me,
like new leaves!

Time that now breathes its last,
like a hungering, thirsting, cringing sheep
will graze me like a joyous lamb

you will be a meadow again!

Like the khejri
you grow within me
like the greening khejri
in the sandy vast

from you I sprout
like the dense new leaves!

the fall winds, dry
will one day shed me,
and these drought sighs
Nand Kishore Acharya
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The girl to her friend

If only those that can leave behind
Their devoted wives and the bond of love
And compassion and consideration
Can be termed stout of heart
Let him cam the vaulted title!
And let me get the sobriquet
Of the scatter-brain, I shall not mind!
(Kuruntokai 20)
The friend to the girl who is anguished at the signs that the
husband intends to journey to distant lands :

On the slope of the hill, the kadamba tree Brings
forth clusters of flowers with a whorl. Your
forehead, dear, gives off the same Sweet perfume
as the kadamba bloom. Which young man will
leave behind
His loving wife in the height of Spring
Condemned to a life of lonely tears!
If he goes, you go with him!

If one can tell the morning from
The noon and the evening and the hours of the night
When the whole world falls fast asleep,
Then one is not in love, for certain.
And if to mount a palm-leaf horse and move ....

(Kuruntokai 32)

Sringarapadyavali - Part 2
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(January 2009 )

Chief Editor  

Rati Saxena

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