It is not untrue when they say we can create the realities of our life. Writing poetry was always a closet affair. To find papers to scribble into and then tuck them away, lest they fall in someone’s hands. Writing away, I realised earlier this year that I had a couple of book full of poems. Re-reading them made me sense how childish most of them were. But rather than tear and throw them away, in a way it strengthened my resolve to write better. And since the words have been flowing out with a flourish which even I didn’t realize I possessed.

This poem and these others in Kritya are from the older batch. That they have been accepted, makes me humble. I promise henceforth the poems shall show more grace, thought and maturity. Does that mean I am going to send more poems to magazines, hoping they be published? Of course! Did you think I was going to glow in the victory of these published works and smile away into oblivion? Never. After all I have never been shy to put myself at risk for abject humiliation. I am quite shameless that way. Always have been. I believe in my honesty.  All I crave is my piece of land. Now I shall build my mansion at leisure.