My Voice

Love is not a word only or a mere feeling and it is something which is more than life and not less than death. Life and death are not mere words for a poet, they are experiences from which he passes daily. Growing is another form of decaying but these both situations are expressed in words in thousand approaches.

 

Do words express them self through sound, or colour?

feelings also come to help words to reveal themselves?

When sky wants to say goodbye, he is in golden colour.

When a tree asks autumn-how do you do? His words change in to colourful flowers

When flowers open there mouth to greet, the words spread becoming the smell.

Words are supreme power, the supreme brain and the supreme mine

Modern realistic mind may not like these images,

Let us talk about other images- the blood on the gun of hunter is word,

The sweat dripping from the fore head of the child labor and drop in the corner of eyes of forced prostitute are also words which tell not only pain but death in life.

Word could be an intense quietness, they could be tremendous noise.

The interesting thing is to play with these words and convert them in to poems.

Why not we celebrate poems in this cruel time?

 

Kritya is ready with new set of poetry, to rejoice the word power.

 

Rati Saxena