My Voice

"The world's end can never be reached
by means of traveling through the world,
Yet without reaching the world's end
there is no release from suffering.

Therefore, truly, the world-knower, the wise one,
gone to the world's end, fulfiller of the holy life,
having known the world's end, at peace,
longs not for this world or another."

-Buddha, "The Connected Discourses of the Buddha"

What could be the World’s end? Is it – the end of the world? Or at the end of the world? ? Or at the end in this world? A number of questions arise in my mind. Most of the philosophers and poets have talked about life after worldly life, or absence of life in life itself. Thus, the language of poetry has developed it own culture, the poetic language culture. which does not allow us to use language not sanctioned by our culture. refine our feelings in keeping with the language of our poetic culture and present them in a manner, that as readers, we should feel ashamed of our own feelings. May be poetic language culture has built a few walls around itself.. There are a few who have broken these walls and have made a made an opening to express their crude feelings.

These could be love or hate. Let us set apart culture, now when we talk about folk – there are no boundaries or walls to imprison our feelings. Even the folk which is hidden in the heart of culture. Yes, every culture has a folk heart which peeps over its shoulder. Long before the monopolization by the so called poetic culture, a woman in the period of the Atharvaveda could express openly--

I sink you in love
From head to bottom
Let all deities passionate you
In my love
O Anumati goddess!help me
O Akuti goddess! help me
Let all deities passionate you
in my love
If walk away three yojana
or go away on horse back five yojana
you will come back to me
and become father of my sons
Let that yonder man long for me
May he burn after me
O Marut! Arouse him
O Space! Make him passionate
O Agni ! You please arouse him
May he burn after me

(Atharvaveda. 6.131.1-5)

We feel that the freedom of words have been lost somewhere. Poets still sing and write, but hiding a lot and opening out very little. We have changed ourselves into birds in cages—

The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.
(Maya Angelou)

Artist of this issue is Soni Pandey

I wish , we will find our way out from this mad house friends.
Wish you best

Rati Saxena


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