I am Kritya.

23 Sep

First of all let me introduce my self.

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

I reside in the hearts of people who raise their voice in protest against all lies, all wrong doings and all injustice. I appear before them in myriad forms, one of the most powerful media being poetry.

Poetry – which was the noblest form of expression from time immemorial.
Poetry – which today stands marginalized.
Poetry – which flies on the wings of dreams.
Poetry – which in the height of insanity walks bare footed on hard reality.
Poetry – which is the voice of revolution.
Poetry – which teaches us to love, to stand face to face with real life, to give up one’s existence for sake of the life.
Poetry – which synchronises observations with pure emotions, which links the eyes to the heart.

Reasons to be Cheerful 

©Bas Kwakman                     

You can’t eat poetry. Rain goes right through it, and it doesn’t burn for long enough to really keep you warm. Poetry doesn’t provide a roof above your head, doesn’t give you a bed, bath or bread; it doesn’t save you from traffic jams, and you can’t smear it over your legs when you go to the beach.

Poetry doesn’t occupy any hotel rooms. Poetry doesn’t fill restaurants, and neither does it help the growth of the middle class in the city centre. Poetry doesn’t care about the North/South divide, nor the one between East and West, and it can’t stop continental drift, the rise in sea levels or atmospheric pollution.

In a school class of 30 children, only 0.2are touched by poetry. This translates to 1.3 children in an average residential area, and 12.4 in a city with a population of 200,000. Poetry barely touches urban illiteracy rates. It’s not on television, doesn’t influence viewing or listening figures, and doesn’t keep a single person from alcohol, drugs, smoking or a fatty diet. Poetry doesn’t ban wheely suitcases. It pays no role in collective bargaining, doesn’t urge stakeholders towards horizonal clustering or lure people to the polls. Poetry doesn’t attract major sponsors, it holdsno sway over public debate, and it doesn’t level out top salaries.

Poetry doesn’t fill the gap left byawithdrawing government and is not armed against the flipsides of the digital revolution. Poetry doesn’t warn about gas leaks or excessively high levels of particulate matter;it doesn’t stop a single militant travelling to Syria or help you journey safely from Africa to Italy.Poetry doesn’t keep a single boat afloat, or an airplane in the sky, or a car on the road.

Poetry is tough. Tricky. Eccentric. It is contrived language. A secret language used amongstfriends. Museum language. Barrier language. Opaque language. Anti-communication. Perverse language that bypasses all rules and conventions.Elitist language that reminds us of the limits of our brains, again and again. It is an elusive, arrogant, intellectual language. Language that alienates and discriminates. Partisan, anti-democratic language. Poetry is the soft language of a tiny voice, spoken by a negligible minority.

No one gets rich from poetry. Not the poet, not the designer, not the printer, the editor, the publisher or the distributor, not the bookseller or the festival organiser. Poetry evades all laws of economics, all social codes. Poetry is elusive, and in its elusiveness it fuels your doubts and increases your ability to fail. Poetry is arguably the most precise language when you falter. And the most unstable language when you are fully conscious. When poetry pulls you into unaccountable visions and the darkness of night thoughts, it is the torpedo from the depths, the inventory of our confusion and our shortcomings, of our resistance to perfection. It is the language that seduces us and overwhelms us when we think we‘ve mastered it, shakes us awake when we think we must rest and convinces us that we are wrong at the moment of our conviction. It is poetry that offersus possible words when something momentous happens to us.It offers a complexity that is consoling.

Poetry is more than the words it speaks. It is, as the poets in this collection express, more than speech without sound, more than words that don’t sleep. It is the power of words, the mastery of the original thought, delicate and elusive, bobbing at the height of the bushes.It is the visible side that announces the colour, a virgin’s scream in the rainbow; it is a beauty worth protecting, cheek to cheek. It is the literal potential of things, a mimicry of migrating birds, the union of foliage and sun, a contract with the clouds.It is everything that becomes visible during defrosting,and the truth we forget because of remembering.

Poetry is, as the Dutch Poet LaureateAnne Vegter recently said, the stool we climb onto when we want to peek into other realities. Poetry is able to bringcountries like Holland and India cheek-to-cheek. What poetry is, it is in itself. ‘That which cannot be conceived through anything else must be conceived through itself,’Spinoza once said. Or, poetry isn’t about something, it is something. Poetry, ladies and gentlemen, is happiness.










18 May

onetwo  three four five six


KRITYA International Poetry Festival 2017 is the 11th such festival organized by KRITYA Literary Trust. In 2017 we are collaborating with RAZA Foundation, New Delhi and Bharat Bhavan, Trivandrum.

The theme for 11th KRITYA Poetry Festival will be “Poetry against racism and xenophobia”. This is a highly relevant theme in today’s world, as hatred and crimes against minorities of all kind based on their faith, race, gender, languages; cultural traits have maligned the life on earth as never before.

As Bertrand Russell said-

Collective fear stimulates herd instinct, and tends to produce ferocity toward those who are not regarded as members of the herd.”

Diversity is an important aspect of human existence. Most of the big countries of the world are good example of diversity. In India, there is a famous saying that language and food changes every 100 miles. This could be true for other parts of the world as well. But the lack of new knowledge, exposure to new places, new languages, and food habits, or living style, make people afraid of others, who appear different. Actually ignorance takes people to worship one’s own self in the name of nation-hood. Such situations give rise to terrorism, war and self-consuming hatred. Poetry is above the boundaries of language, colour and creed. Upcoming KRITYA festival highlights poetic voices from different parts of the world, having similarity in their thought despite the diversities in cultures

As we invite around twenty international poets with great stature (participating through the grants given by the ministry of culture of their respective governments) and twenty poets from within the country, KRITYA will be taking them to schools and colleges, to organized poetry meets, We will also take poetry to Hospitals, Prison, Old Age Homes and Orphanages with due permissions and sponsorship from authorities and enlighten the imagination of the audience with peep into world outside. We will use translations of the works in local languages to communicate with local community. We will also organize poetry painting exhibitions, and poetry film presentations in different views. Thus KRITYA would try to connect people to poetry and to its emotive aspects.

beach Poem

1 Mar


Singing with the Waves

Sun takes moon along

my veins, sun is ready to say

goodbye, moon knocks on the door.

My heart lurches across

the distance towards you. Passion of sea

is coming through my nose, but no

we don’t need snow to have a white Christmas.

Stuck between sun and moon, I am

waiting for the water.




Sea invites me more

than anybody, sunset will last

forever. Trees, sand, moon will also last forever

but we

will not be. Dreams

of seas start travelling

to mountains. We are playing

in the sand just nearby our room. Inside

the mountain, there are molten promises. You

can find small sea inside

the shell. You can also find

your own soul, as I look into my shadow

rippling through bubbles. When

bubbles break down, we will

be no more.

Rose petal on the sea, my offering

to you. It will shine

in the darkness

of our poems.

kritya in media

21 Feb































Dear friends,

The 2016 Kritya poetry festival is scheduled to be held on the 18th, 19th and 20th of February 2016. Kritya is once again welcoming poets of note from all over the world to her homeland Kerala to partake in this festival. There is a difference this time, though. We have decided on a floating venue for Kritya 2016; Kritya is going out to the people rather than asking them to come to her.

We believe that poetry is most relevant in the present day and we must reach people who have little if no access to the arts and poetry. Poetry is a compelling medium to disseminate valuable ideals, discuss social issues and effectively paint the world around us in all its beauty, ugliness and complexities. Poetry is the elixir that heals the deep-lying wounds of the mind. Poetry is the single most powerful medium to spread the message of peace in this strife-torn world. With its wonderful capability of speaking volumes through few but powerful expressions, there is no better tool of communication than poetry.

Just as the most beautiful flowers bloom in the sludge and swamp, the most beautiful and artistic minds may lie confined in places where often the brilliant rays of poetry fail to reach. We hope to take poetry to them. Then again, going out to the community will enable us to make the spirit of poetry accessible to people who may not otherwise even remotely consider reading poems.

Yes, poetry must extend its arms to people in hospitals, old age homes, prisons and detention centers, and juvenile homes among others. Poetry must make its way unwaveringly to various community events such as book fairs, exhibitions, sales and so on, and make its footstep heard. Kritya intends to keep this spirit alive and reach out to people through poetry readings and performances, providing them with a unique experience of appreciating poetry. Then there are remote villages and rural locations that are waiting to take in fresh wisps of poetry, holding their breath in anticipation of lyrics and music that may come their way. Kritya is now going to these places to imbibe new experiences, to be one with the folks living those experiences.

Modern day poets do not wish to be recluses, discussing their poems only with fellow poets and admirers or confining themselves to the legendary ivory tower. Poets across the world now prefer to frequent even unusual places, in an attempt to let a larger section of the public experience the strength and possibilities of the poetic medium. Kritya will get together with people who wish to appreciate poetry, read and write poetry, and discuss poetry.

It’s time we went forth to meet the people who love us, whom we love. Words are our power; let us allow our poems to seek and find the right audience who want to listen to them.



B D Dethan drawing while Ayyappa Paniker read a poem

Festival of poetry Kritya2005

Kritya has taken her first step into the vast expanse of the world of poetry in June -2005.To mark Kritya’s achievement we organized a “celebration of poetry” or poetry festival at the Museum Auditorium in Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala.

As we know, poetry, the oldest form of literature, is always kept alive in other art forms like drama, dance, music and even painting. So we celebrated it by singing, acting, talking and painting poetry.
Dr. Ayyappa Paniker, the eminent poet who put Malayalam poetry in the world arena and brought the world literature to Malayalis, inaugurated the function by reading poetry.
Kavalam Narayana Paniker who has given a new grammar to Indian theatre, was the chief guest and he read his own, and Ayyappa Paniker’s poems.
B. D Dethan, a great painter from Kerala who has combined the tradition of Indian and western painting, painted on the spot while the poems were being rendered.
Kavalam read ‘Seethamaareecham Kilippaattu’ by Dr. Ayyappa Panicker, based on the famous Ramayanam episode. Modelled on the lines of the traditional Kilippaattu by Thunchan, complete with Phalashruthi, this set the tone for the play on the same subject staged by the Sopanam troupe. Imbued with the distinct flavour that is characteristic of Kavalam’s productions, it captivated the audience. Particular mention needs to be made of the Ravana by Gireeshan.
The short stories of Amrita Preetam have an earthy tang and several of them feature the travails of the woman subjugated by the patriarchal society.
This issue came alive in Neeta Mohindra’s solo performance, an adaptation of one of these stories. The protagonist, a seller of pots, observes that the life of a woman, irrespective of the strata of society she belongs to, is much the same, one of exploitation. The array of emotions that flashed on her face and the freedom from restraints were proof enough that the Spartan props on the stage did not fetter the accomplished artiste.

The inaugural function was followed by a captivating drama presentation based on the famous Sanskrit Drama “Ashcharya choodamani,” by Sopanam Troupe. Punjabi artist Neeta Mahendra acted out Amrita Preetam’s story “Kori Handi” (the unsullied mud pot), which was hailed as a brilliant performance. This was followed by pic_12Rabindra Sangeet by Pallavi Krishnan. D.Vinayachandran, a famous poet of Kerala, read out one of his poems. Rendering of the poems of Pash and Rati Saxena( the editor of Kritya) constituted the grand finale. The festival of poetry turned out to be an experience of the essence of poetry involving all the senses and the sensitivity of the heart – a Jugalbandi of reading, acting, painting and singing. A combination of Rasa, Raga, and Rhythm in different colours.

Homage to Prabhakar

Prabhakar Chitrakaar was from Chattisgarh. I might have met him in Dhamatari sometime after a poetry reading, but I don’t remember his face. He wrote to me that he liked my poetry and wanted to paint on them, as my poetry talks to him. He started sending me paintings on my poems one after another along with brief letters. When I dreamt of Kritya, Prabhakar’s paintings were in my mind. I wrote to him about it, but there was no reply, the first issue of Kritya came out with his paintings, but Prabhakar was strangely silent. Now I have come to know from a letter sent by his wife Vimala, the reason for his uncanny silence. He is no more in this world to paint my poems.

Kritya pays homage to Prabhakar.pic_11