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

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

(ISSN 0976-514X)

Poetry Books
  Kritya publication


On the surface, poetry and science appear to be very different. In poetry inaccuracy and ambiguity of language is essential though it is largely associated with the subconscious mind, on the other hand, science aims at clear definitions. In science, language is limited in words and is in accordance with logic. We can give the example of Mathematics, where words are replaced by symbols and symbols are connected and defined so that scientists can make condensed formulas. But these symbols, when used, need detailed explanations. Many mathematicians believe that mathematics is not just a language to describe nature but is inherent in nature. As the famous saying of Pythagoras goes, “All things are numbers”. Philosophy and mathematics go together to understand certain riddle regarding the universe. The mathematician and philosopher Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz once said - The only way to rectify our reasoning is to make them as tangible as those of the Mathematicians, so that we can find our error at a glance, and when there are disputes among persons, we can simply say: Let us calculate without further ado, to see who is right.
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 In a by lane of Masjid Bunder
lives Manilal,
the rooster.
Showing off his crown
to hens, scaring
chicks away,
having the sun
at his beck and call,

Udayan Thakker

I have broken your slumber
To reconstruct you
Piercing the balance of
Stillness in stone brick by brick
I refuse to renew the surface
Of weak fragmented crumbling walls
With fresh lacquers, putty, coloured paints
I will rip off peels of age
On worn out, decayed lifeless layers
I will dig with my chosen chisel
Walls now senseless with age
Anand Khatri
July rains;
The spitting July rain
When tiny tadpoles leapfrog to life,
The smoky sky above
Obscures its pristine blue blanket – slowly
As the clouds above ejaculate, I then remember
Grandma’s lullabies
We used to shiver,
As the deafening thunder roared outside
We jumped on to Grandma’s lap;
Her frail body shook,
As we all jostled for comfort zones around her;
Our droopy eyelids slowly dropping curtains,
As we all go into a trance,
And Grandma’s lullabies took us far away into fairyland;
Sabah Al-Ahmed


These villages depressed, dejected and gloomy
Drifting through the stream of the Goda
These people like scarecrow
Seated at crossroads
These farms destroyed and gloomy
Getting out of minds. Prithviraj Taur

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The talky, yabbery
of It, which is the
USA, Hollywood
be its fame,

approaching the day
devoted to the body
from which we all came;
the screamingly funny,
lethally hysterical,

digitally channeled
situation comedy,
the humiliating
about her who

sustains, nurses,
fights for, grows,
suffers, possesses
and lets go of us,
who has her own

job, puts in her time
like any man, puts in
more time than any
man, makes less bux
than most men,

is more enslaved,
more burdened yet
smiles through all
fights. loves saying
Nice, and fights on.


I love you, Momma,
even if you’re three
years dead, love you
in any woman. You

made me a Red,

or rather lead me to
the hallway where
Terry Winter read me
poems of Paul Eluard
before we necked

and afterward gave
me the address of
Young Progressive
League. Anybody
stupid enough like

Henry Miller to say
he hates his mother
can laze around
anarchist heaven
with the rest of

the famous flops.
Anybody says a
word against—I
mean Motherland,—
I’ll be happy giving

him a red nose
courtesy Nellie
my momma, my
bowler, cane and,
between my lips,
the rose.

Jack Hirschman
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Busman, I guess you didn't recognise me
I'm Kudret who will get off on somewhere available.
Wherever I see somewhere available
Suddenly I scratch it.
My father had left me when I was so little
He wasn't totally wrong
My body was leaning towards to left a little

Busman, Don't play this song anymore
I wear ties, but I beat hard
I used to be an officer but I was invalided out.
I had a wife, a child, a house
alcholod swallowed my wife
She swallowed the child
Tedaş swallowed the house
when it hits 7 in the afternoon
I haunt the ale house

My name is Kudret
wherever I see somewhere available
Suddenly I scratch it.
There was a lady called Nimet, you know
she always gets on half past eight
she's blonde, she's delusional
but a bit of alright
I've never seen her getting off on somewhere available

Busman , turn on the air conditioner we're stewed
I have no friend but booze
maybe Fikret the blabbermouth from ale house
I am a human, I cry from time to time too
bone, nerve, muscle and flesh
and dirt
arrogance is glued to our bodies

Humans are made up of a breath

Translated by Çağatay Çalışkan

Onur Sakarya


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La Luna

give me Time La Luna
look everything is gone
everything is crying
the water has turned cold

a Sacrifice falls between us now La Luna
out of the three of us one is a sacrifice
a cold line is drawn through the sky
too late too late now

one by one all my suns are leaving me
will they ever return to my life
an Eagle flies out of my forehead splitting
the sky apart
the maddening sound of an unseen Wheel
can be heard from afar

distant memories
like crabs
appear at sunset

late suns late suns also set
you come into my life with circles of metal

with unseen forces
with dark incomprehensible anguish, you are reborn
as yourself,
is there nothing human in you La Luna

though everything looks possible, everything explicable
somewhere things have been trapped
come back Emperor
let your dark eyes take me in with the night one last time

plait my hair with an ancient key La Luna
shroud my face my wounds
with cloths of black La Luna
prepare me for that pagan festival

like silhouettes gliding past dark walls
like ice flowers waiting for indigo nights
like a lighthouse scanning the restless sea

Lale Muldur
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(May-June 2019)

Chief Editor  

Rati Saxena

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