Goutam Roy

The Silence Beyond Eden  The sky, dust-laden, wears the stains of ash, while restless souls gather pearls of eternity, yet their hunger remains unsatiated. Frontiers bleed, dreams crumble into ruins, and nameless children inherit an unknown Eden's ashes. Once, your footsteps consecrated the earth, your breath sanctified the wandering winds. Now, iron and fire dictate the fate of spring. Who taught the flowers to fear their blossoming? Perhaps the giants still play their ancient game, moving kingdoms across the chessboard of the earth, while pawns of flesh and blood vanish beneath their shadows. And you remain silent, beyond the ruins of paradise. Is your silence the final mystery of creation, or the permission through which the giants reign?

 Solemn Mourn Perhaps a solemn melody of mourning, composed by Chopin, will drift through the air as a thousand suns flare, turning everything to ashes. There will be none left to lament; only their anguish will linger in the ether, taking the shape of a grieving tune— a prayer of departed souls ascending to the Almighty, like a skylark singing at the threshold of heaven. By Goutam Roy 

 The Half-Life of a Flaked Stone ​The strata do not lie: violence is an older tongue than grammar. Beneath the pale silt of Jebel Sahaba, quarts-tipped points remain nested inside fossilized ribcages— our earliest surviving blueprint, the draft copy of an appetite. ​We did not abandon the instinct; we merely built faster vessels for it. We train neural lattices to simulate empathy, chart the cold drift of gravitational waves, yet keep fifty megatons of concentrated noon caged in concrete silos, calling the hostage-taking peace. ​The geometry has always been flawed. We measure survival in blast radii, treat whole zip codes as collateral margins, and wait for someone to flinch. ​Let the launch codes rot in their salt caverns. Let the unspent uranium sleep in the deep shale, no longer demanded to play the sun. Let the silt fill the trench unhurried, until the broken arrows and the silo doors are nothing more than strange, blunt minerals rusting quietly in the dark. By Goutam Roy ...

 A Bird Without Captivity An imprisoned bird yearns to unfold its forgotten wings, while a wounded heart buries its cries beneath the ashes of anguish. Yet, beyond the silence, the Creator whispers through the mysteries of existence, awakening the scorched soul from its wordless depths. And what once remained imprisoned within, begins to take flight through the infinite tongues of creation. By Goutam Roy 

 The Endless Rehearsal To build is to crash, to crumble into dust, then feign to begin anew— the ritual of creation continues age after age. A new episode is thought to unfold, yet the same old story is composed again. The stage remains unchanged, only the actors depart, making room for others to rehearse the past. Nothing gleams on the distant horizon, no guiding Polestar to lead the way beyond this endless cycle. By Goutam Roy