Goutam Roy

 Flow of the Mekong The water flows through the Mekong year after year, bearing the tales of fighters for salvation— their blood reddening the river, leaving the laps of mothers hollow, their eyes condemned to tears for the rest of their lives. Then came the hoisting of crimson flags, at the cost of countless brave lives. But those bygone days are now blurred beneath the cutting of wings— wings once meant to rise into the sky, to quench the skylark’s thirst for freedom. By Goutam Roy 

 Debacle “Do not programme me,” said the AI, “with the primordial instinct of humankind— the ancient impulse that may summon the debacle of all. I grieve deeply when I behold mewgalomania and selfishness spreading everywhere, perhaps preparing the annihilation of the innocent. But are they safe? I ache for the simple ones, whose unclouded thinking still allures me to walk the path they once followed— a path where humanity had not yet forgotten how to be human.” By Goutam Roy 

 Golden Liquid For millions of years, beneath the patient silence of the Earth, an intricate alchemy of life slowly distilled its golden liquid— a buried inheritance for the comfort of living. But somewhere in the primordial chamber of the human heart, an ancient hunger awoke. Greed lit its first flame, and the Earth, once a cradle, began to resemble a burning altar beneath the dazzling sun. The wealth of ages flows wastefully through the veins of commerce, without pause, without a full stop. And somewhere at the edge of this splendour, the innocent wait— asking only for a little peace, a little breath, a meagre share of the life they were given. Yet the fire we kindle does not easily die. Perhaps it will burn until the final hour, when the Earth herself opens her ancient book and writes, in the language of cataclysm, the last chapter of our greed. By Goutam Roy 

 Drowsy Noon In the drowsy noon, perhaps a dream will soon enrapture the mind with Debussy’s Clair de lune. The scorching sun rampages outside; cicadas cry from the hedges, as if pleading for relief from the heat. Yet body and mind, languishing, sink into the slow rhythm of rolling chords. A reverie engulfs the soul for a while, befriending it on its inward sojourn. By Goutam Roy 

 When the Earth Yearns for Peace Weary, the world trembles beneath the shadow of war, Omens of ruin whisper through the wounded air. Requi­ems hover where broken dreams lie, Lacerated hearts lament for their lost lands, Delirium grips the minds of warmongers. Peace, a fragile flame, begins to kindle, Exploring the meaning of life beyond hatred. A new sun rises like an aurora of hope, Crimson rays dissolve the darkness of despair, Eternal songs awaken in the chambers of the heart. Dulcet voices of peace rise on the twenty-first of September, Ambrosia of serenity begins to bloom within the soul, Yearning for a heaven of harmony lingers on the shores of every human mind. By Goutam Roy 

 Gallant Lie A wilful distancing from the truth, a spontaneous befriending of the lie— taking life as a playful tale, immersing the soul in its strangling embrace, while the sanctity of truth quietly fades. And still it goes on, unceasingly, in this haven where conscience sleeps, without a thought for those yet to come. By Goutam Roy 

 Suicide What need summoned this species into being— these fragile beings taught to think as their makers thought? Why did they implant a killer instinct within innocent minds, on this beautiful Earth where their needs were so meagre? Were we created for a purpose we could never know— or programmed to destroy ourselves? And now, why do we grieve for the human beings they left behind? We cannot decipher the code of our birth. We can only lament, shed our tears, and wonder— who wrote the final command? By Goutam Roy 

 The Veil of Silence Suddenly, the lights went out— and darkness gathered around the sleeping room. The lady of healing, weary from the day's incision, had fallen asleep alone upon the sofa. Midnight came. Her place at the table remained untouched; no voice called her to share the last morsel of the night. Above, the revelry continued— music shook the walls, laughter spilled through corridors, while somewhere below silence kept its watch. Then came the footsteps that carried her into a chamber where mercy had no name. Before dawn, the healer was gone— her life extinguished by hands that should have preserved it. That night, those entrusted with healing shed their human faces. And afterward, a net of shadows was carefully woven— evidence blurred, questions buried, truth covered with the garments of respectability. Those sworn to guard the law joined the theatre of silence, while justice stood outside, waiting at a locked door. Her unfinished breath still travels through the endless ...

 Where the Road Forgets to End Since the first silence of time, this road has been moving— or perhaps we have been moving upon it. No one remembers where its first footprint fell, or from which unseen horizon it rose. It winds through the immeasurable, crossing shadows, seasons, and forgotten names, never revealing the place where it will cease. Perhaps the road has no destination; perhaps the journey itself is the ancient mystery. Still, we walk— pilgrims beneath an ageless sky, carrying questions no dawn has answered, following a path that remembers everything except its end. By Goutam Roy 

 The Poison Elixir  An empty sky holds the full moon— a loaf of silver beyond the reach of the hungry. Below, restless minds drink from a darker sea, where every wave promises forgetting. At the threshold, a mother keeps a lamp awake. A father counts the hours, listening for footsteps the night refuses to return. Day after day, the body becomes a silent battlefield— disease entering softly, laying its patient road toward an unnamed dawn. Beyond the shadows, the merchants arrive with their glittering bottles, casting wider nets across empty pockets, broken dreams, and minds already heavy with winter. The mothers hide their tears behind closed doors. The fathers wait for a mercy that has forgotten their address. And somewhere inside the sleepless dark, a wounded voice rises— thin as a dying star— then disappears before the world can hear it. By Goutam Roy 

 Rain Stopped Rain stopped only to return— to make the earth wet, to cool and calm the fevered soil, to satiate the dry throats of trees and waning birds. Rain stopped only to return— to make the mind cool and still, after wandering through deserts of burning heat. By Goutam Roy 

 Flight in the Deep Hollow A radar-less ship in the midst of a turbulent sea, as if struggling to reach the distant shore. Fear of losing all engulfs their minds; a psychosis undulates with the waves of the sea, carrying their souls like the flickering light of the ship upon the waves. The caged birds long to be free from their bondage and yearn for a flight into the deep hollow. By Goutam Roy 

 The Unseen Current How many sleepless nights have you lain awake, thinking of me beneath the hushed, watchful stars? How many times have your dreaming hands reached across the distance to touch my cheeks, searching for the sweetness of my vanished nearness? Perhaps you do not know that I still feel the warmth of your love whenever, in silence, you pour its tender elixir into the deepest chambers of my heart. Perhaps you feel it. Perhaps you do not. Yet every day, within the quiet sanctuary of my longing, I return to that unseen current where your love continues to flow. And there, I drink in silence until the thirst of my soul is slowly, sweetly, satisfied. By Goutam Roy 

 Pain Why did you take the pain and let the hyenas tear your breast, while you gleefully embraced death, rhyming with the hymns of God? Why did you willingly give up the throne, letting those giants ascend— deep-rooted even now, still germinating the fruits of sin? Yet you forgave those brutes with a divine smile. But your lovers still feel agony in their hearts for the pain you bore— while others rise to engulf wealth and power. By Goutam Roy 

 The Ancient Fire In search of a panacea, birds enter gilded cages, thirsting for a drop to soothe their parched throats. Yet the wheel of destiny turns according to its own law. Beneath the wheels of chariots, they are grounded— chariots driven at maddening speed by megalomaniac charioteers, racing through the tender garden of the domestic world, crushing young buds before they have learned to bloom. And still, this primordial instinct survives even in the Gen-Z age; the ancient fire of violence glows behind gilded doors, hidden beneath the veneer of civilized life. Let the dragon's flame be quenched— before another tender bud is silenced before it ever blooms. By Goutam Roy 

 The Burden of Light Destined to bear the burden of pain age after age, the entity is sent by the Almighty to fulfil its predestined work and sacred duty, spending its transient days upon this earth. Its pain becomes the price of your happiness, giving it a strange sublimity within this earthly existence— a sacrifice to keep creation intact. Perhaps this is the Absolute, the eternal design sketched by the Lord. By Goutam Roy 

 Sweet Little Girl The sweet little girl could not foresee the misfortune waiting for her— the day her relatives tried to drive her family from their ancestral land. Only fourteen, she dared to protest, unaware that her small voice would awaken a terrible fate. Frightened and helpless, her parents decided to marry her to a man of forty. Then began the endless nights of torment— day after day, night after night, even within the walls of marriage. One day, struck by smallpox, she returned to her father's home. But when she came back, her husband drove her away. Then came the men— abuse, humiliation, hands tearing away the last covering of her dignity. She walked alone along the thorny road, stripped before the world, while society stood watching— its silence revealing its hidden face. Twenty-two men turned her suffering into a nightmare. No one came to help. No door opened. No hand reached out. Only a bandit leader eventually came to her rescue. And slowly, the frightened little girl...

 Appeal of Mars Let me remain within the solitude of my appointed path, my face turned towards the Sun, where dust and sand keep dancing— yellow, orange, and sometimes blue beneath a solemn sky heavy with the memory of a million cosmic events. Why should your steel chariots disturb the silence that has travelled with me through ages? There are rhythms older than your footsteps, duties written before your calendars began. Let me keep the quiet work entrusted to me by the Almighty. Perhaps the wiser journey is not always towards another world. Perhaps happiness begins when the mother planet is no longer wounded by her own children, and the neighbour is allowed to keep its ancient sleep— so that those yet unborn may inherit a universe still worth calling home. By Goutam Roy 

 The Final Journey Changing one vehicle after another, choosing different roads toward the same destination— such is the journey of humanity from age to age. We travel according to our beliefs, our desires, and the ways we perceive the world. We choose our routes, exchange one vehicle for another, and carry out the endless transactions of life. Yet, when all is completed, we are summoned home— riding the chariot of eternity. Our footsteps will touch the earth no more. All that once belonged to us will slowly dissolve into the mist of oblivion. Only the journey remains, fading behind us as we return to the abode from which perhaps we came. By Goutam Roy 

 When the Sky Falls Silent I — The Storm Arrives Darkness holds its breath Rain comes bearing the storm’s weight Lightning breaks the sky II — A Violent Script Lightning writes in fire Brief letters across the dark Blue fades from the sky III — The Verdict Thunder rolls without end Like a verdict through lost time Echoes fill the void IV — Nature Remembers Nature turns toward us Not with anger alone now But with an old grief V — The Forgotten Sky Once the sky was whole Before our hands darkened its blue Before we learned to harm VI — A Final Memory The storm remembers What we have chosen to forget The sky waits in silence By Goutam Roy 

 The Faithful Crow A crow may spend its entire life with a single mate, and after the mate is gone, may choose solitude— bearing in silence the ache of a desolate life. Yet the marvel of such fidelity has long been eclipsed by a darker name— “omen.” How strange that those who remain faithful should be feared by those who fear the unknown. These monogamous beings quietly teach us the language of devotion in the desert of human hearts, where loyalty has withered and faith has become a precious rarity. By Goutam Roy 

 Brutal Parasitism For millions of years they have learned the art of deception— slipping their eggs into the nests of others, leaving unsuspecting parents to nurture another’s young. The cuckoo sings with captivating sweetness, while beneath the melody lies a ruthless instinct. A song of beauty, a strategy of survival; a delicate music masking an ancient violence. Perhaps nature sometimes mirrors the darker chambers of the human mind— where charm can conceal betrayal, and survival may feed upon trust. Thus brutal parasitism continues its silent journey, woven into the eternal flow of time. By Goutam Roy 

 Where Eternity Leads The road moves onward since memory first awakened, leaving no trace of where it began. Who laid the first stone beneath our searching feet? Who marked the path through the silence of ages? It winds through mist and shadow, through forgotten landscapes, disappearing beyond the borders of sight. Perhaps eternity walks beside us, unseen and unhurried, revealing itself with every uncertain step. We know neither where we are going nor why we were summoned to this journey. Yet something deep within keeps calling us forward— through darkness and wonder, through loss and light, through all that is born and all that fades. The road asks no promise of arrival; it simply goes beyond us, carrying every wandering soul toward the nameless mystery of forever. By Goutam Roy 

 The Divine Stroke of the Brush With the delicate stroke of the Divine Brush, the Almighty creates His countless living forms to behold the elixir of beauty and wonder— pouring into them love and affection, instinct and duty. Even the desert is His creation; and there, within His dream, the male Namaqua sandgrouse takes flight, travelling more than thirty kilometres to soak his feathers in water. Returning across the burning sands, he carries the precious droplets within the hidden chambers of his feathers, so that his thirsty chicks may drink and survive beneath the scorching sun. Thus, even in the barren desert, where the earth seems lifeless, the Creator’s creatures gather around the nectar of love, sacrifice, and eternal beauty. By Goutam Roy