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


“Keep me not in the Darkness (of Ignorance), but lead me towards the Light (of Spiritual Knowledge),
Keep me not in the (Fear of) Death (due to the bondage of the Mortal World), but lead me towards the Immortality (gained by the Knowledge of the Immortal Self beyond Death)”.
The philosophy of indigenous people involved the understanding of life, death, and life beyond death. There were two elements which disturbed them from the very beginning. One was ‘death’ and the other ‘diseases’. It was very difficult for them to understand death but to understand death caused by disease was even more challenging.
They tried to handle both situations in their own way. It was not easy for man so closely related to nature to fathom death as the end of life. That is the reason why the tribal people never accepted death. They believed that dead people disappeared from the earth for a short while only to return later.
We can see a beautiful prayer of a native American Crowfoot (black foot), regarding life
“What is life?
Is it a flesh of firefly in the night?
Is it the breath of a buffalo in the winter night?
It is a little shadow which runs across the grass
And loses itself in the sunlight.”

Rati Saxena
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 my existential plane of experience and the extended floodplains of Yamuna
create an angle
inversely proportional to my house rent.
4 delhis.

if there is a car on the street
the car on the street is cars
can be edited like a video clip.
4 delhis.

Debasish Parashar
Ancient capital, Kharkhorum
More than autumn rain
More than stone and jade with carvings
You hold the lingering feelings of my life

Ancient capital, Kharkhorum
Standing like a stone man in the wilderness
Like the god of war in the night
Wearing the robes of the empire
Hadaa Sendoo
Despairs can walk
Desolation conducts the truth
That elfin moon comes on
Crazy hacks become smooth.

Night had a soundless sleep
We looked back more
Heaven splitted us somehow
Fortuity opened the door.

No one believed the dream
You perceived, and me too
I dwelt in, felt your gaps
You traced all reckless hue.
Pratyusha Sarkar
When the face is burnt by the lights of glamour
When the awards are as heavy as wet cotton
These and those people will walk down the tree
They will removes all colours with leaves
And the lights will be faded off by the bark
Saumyajit Acharya

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THE FUGITIVE (Corner of Omirou and Sachtouri Sts.)


[Beauty as in caprice]

The streets I passed she
 passed too Parading by and
 changing dresses colors
 Presenting a fashion show
on the back of the ages
Parading by and changing


[Beauty as in devilish]

She shoves me I stumble
I act like I’ve forgotten
Minor qualms
 are born of a sudden
die after awhile
 more trivial yet.


[Beauty as in angel)

I’m caressed
by the grey from the black coat
 that flutters in her sun.


(Beauty as in muse)

She speaks to me and I strain to hear as
 much as needed to erase one word from
 a dead language An epoch.


I know her
She’s somewhere on the corner
of Omirou and Sachtouri Sts.
There is heard:

I have not written poems.(2)
She’s telling the truth. She’s
 never written a single word.

PS. Your most well-known unknown person is like someone about to speak again before fleeing once more.


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My handbag is full of caution
Buttons of all sizes
For sudden holes
Needle and black threads
To sew wounds of heart and clothing as well
Empty sanitary bags for vomiting cases that occur to those who live here nowadays
Wet wipes to wipe make up' shredders.
My handbag is full of futility
Polisher for my shoes those expired by long roads
A mobile phone that is full of people 'names I cannot any longer remember
My poor quality glasses
My optometrist prescribed
On the pretext that I do not see beyond my nose
Dry cigarettes and a lighter that staggers genetically
Dried flowers and poems whose papers did not accommodate
Hankies those got tired of farewells
And you ask me why does my back hurt?


I am not here
I am not listening to you
Some clamor had forgotten to end the call in my head
Opening my windows to the night's rusty tables,
To knives those still stuck in the necks of lovers,
Coffins the night composed on the tune of waiting,
Soldiers' shoes which lost their owners,
Bags the vacuum has burdened,
Seas which belch the prayers of the ones who died on their way to life,
Songs those mock the departed,
A sky that tightens the dawn's ear,
Houses which changed their names,
Flags whose colors got throaty
And barricades whose sands ran away from the noise of their voices..

Shurouk Hammoud


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Translated by Usha Kishore

I am not the mind, nor the intellect, nor an entity,
nor any psyche;
I am not heard, nor tasted, nor smelt, nor seen;
I am not the sky, nor the earth, nor fire, nor air;
I am the joy ringing in eternity! I am Shiva!
I am Shiva !

I am not the essence of life, nor its five airs ;
I am not any of the seven elements , nor the
five strata of consciousness ;
I am not spoken word, nor physical deed,
nor erotic need;
I am the joy ringing in eternity! I am Shiva!
I am Shiva!

I am not hatred, I am not love, nor envy,
nor greed;
I have no vanity, I have no dignity;
I have no duties, I have no riches, nor desires,
nor any salvation ;
I am the joy ringing in eternity! I am Shiva!
I am Shiva!

I am not good, I am not evil; I am not content,
I am not grief;
I am not mantra , nor any place of pilgrimage;
nor am I veda , nor sacrificial rite;
I am not sustenance, I am not sustainable, nor am I,
the act of sustaining;
I am the joy ringing in eternity! I am Shiva!
I am Shiva!

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( September- October - 2019)

Chief Editor  

Rati Saxena


Rashida Rashi

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