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Friday, 17 February 2012

indian poets pictures and detail

javed akhter is a great writer of indian history.He was born in 17 jan 1945.He is a great
best lyricist of india.He had done lots of poetry in hindi and urdu language.

indian poet pictures
arun kolatkar .He was the great indian poet of the last century.kolahpor where he spent his
first eighteen or nineteen year.He was very famous in indian people.
sri sri seshendra sharma is a great poet.He was born in visakhapatanam.He was great indian poet
writing in telugu.He was died on 15th june 1983.

4 comments:

  1. Seshendra Sharma better known as Seshendra is a colossus of modern Indian poetry. His literature is a unique blend of the best of poetry and poetics.
    Seshendra: Visionary poet of the millennium
    http://seshendrasharma.weebly.com

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  2. Rajasekharam(Younger brother)

    Wife: Mrs.Janaki Sharma

    Children: Vasundhara , Revathi (Daughters),

    Vanamaali , Saatyaki (Sons)

    * * *


    Seshendra Sharma better known as Seshendra is a colossus of Modern Indian poetry.
    His literature is a unique blend of the best of poetry and poetics.

    Diversity and depth of his literary interests and his works
    are perhaps hitherto unknown in Indian literature.

    From poetry to poetics, from Mantra Sastra to Marxist politics
    his writings bear an unnerving print of his rare Genius.
    His scholarship and command over Sankrit, English and Telugu Languages has facilitated
    his emergence as a towering personality of comparative literature in the 20th Century World literature.
    T.S.Eliot, Archibald MacLeish and Seshendra Sharma are trinity of world poetry and Poetics.


    His sense of dedication to the genre he chooses to express himself and
    the determination to reach the depths of subject he undertakes to explore
    place him in the galaxy of world poets / world intellectuals.

    ReplyDelete
  3. THE BURNING SUN
    I am the drop of sweat, I am the sun
    Rising from the hills of human sinews,
    Hearts are my friends
    I live in the city of sufferings
    Although in my fist, I hold an ocean of history
    I sculptured man silently –
    Wings that carried birds
    Did not bring them back;
    I am drinking thick darkness
    In the haunts of those forests
    Which cry out in agony for the birds
    That did not return;
    Clutching at the garment woven of memories
    I twine myself to the feet of my country.
    Heads that were hanging to the trees
    Smile as flowers today in the branches
    Hearts that received the bullets
    Ring in temples of our land like bells;
    Blood of theirs nights squeezed and offered
    By how many to bring forth this day;
    They are hanging like icicles
    On the ridges of our roofs;
    Look, it is an iron fist I have;
    I shall excavate the flame of light
    From the rocks of time –
    I will set fire to the sleep of resisting centuries –
    To the rivers that run in passion after the sea
    I cry halt, command them
    To paint the colourless arid lands in green,
    Invite back the smile which fled away
    In terror from this land,
    To the butterfly trudging hungrily for a flower
    I shall give a garden –
    Come children, eat
    Bits of nights dipping them in moonlight,
    I shall not allow the sun to cheat this sacred day;
    If he wakes not on the horizon of this land
    I shall tear my burning heart
    And put it in its place
    With the scarlet of my living flesh
    Illuminate the earth
    I am the drop of sweat, I am the sun
    Rising from the hills of human sinews –
    - Seshendra Sharma http://seshendrasharma.weebly.com
    https://www.facebook.com/GunturuSeshendraSharma/
    -This is the 1st poem in Seshendra Sharma’s second anthology of prose poems titled “The Burning Sun “
    - In his intro to The Burning Sun Seshendra says there has been an uninterrupted undercurrent in his life as a poet , that is his life nerve and that has assumed total expression in this poem



    ReplyDelete
  4. The curvature of mystery
    Bereft of leaves, the naked branch
    That spreads onto our balcony
    Is the curvature of mystery
    Which poses the question eternally
    Its flame like twigs tiny, newborn, its branches of fruits that stop the wayfarer
    The cuckoos that sing in its cool shade
    The little blue rags of sky caught in its leaves and keep fluttering-
    Where are they! Where did they go!
    Now of course it is a naked branch,
    At its end a kite like a tail of sankranthi
    That vanished into time like evaporating tear invisible-
    If I show you one visible posture
    I know you people devour
    the entire invisible world of my thoughts and feelings
    I know – that is why –I say it is naked but in that branch
    Time is flowing like electric current in the copper wire.
    -Seshendra Sharma
    http://seshendrasharma.weebly.com/
    https://www.facebook.com/GunturuSeshendraSharma/

    ReplyDelete

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