Goutam Roy

  If the Moon Laughs If the moon laughs as it once laughed upon his mother’s lap, If the sudden flash of joy shone as brightly as the radiant face of his childhood days, If the cradle remained as transparent as it was at the hour of his birth, If every star rejoiced as they did at his genesis, Then the dazzled night would whisper the marvelous tale of creation— an eternity still hidden within the abyss of mystery.

 Starry Diamonds On the tips of tiny grasses, infinite dazzling stars descended from the cosmos to adorn her daughter for a fleeting while, then vanished with the rise of celestial fire. The withered keeper of dawn waits for the morning to adorn herself once more with those infinite starry diamonds, as frail transient souls await that luminous veil. By Goutam Roy 

Between Two Worlds Within the two worlds, an unceasing passage— not of steps, but of becoming. Through the subconscious, a formless corridor, where his musings hover like dusk upon water— neither held nor gone. A ripple stirs— and the mind’s stillness forgets itself. A veil remains— unruffled, yet inwardly wavering— bearing the quiet weight of the unsaid. Between these two worlds, thought gathers as mist, hesitates— then, almost unwillingly, assumes the burden of form. By  Goutam Roy 

  Introduction:- Drumbeaters presents a tense, almost ritualistic moment before an unnamed surge—perhaps social, political, or emotional. The poem situates us among figures who act with mechanical persistence, detached from feeling, yet deeply entangled in a collective movement. Through restrained imagery and a quiet, foreboding tone, it explores how individuals become part of something larger, often without full awareness or reflection. Drumbeaters Pale-eyed drumbeaters, untouched by feeling, press onward in the hush before the surge. Their rhythms, coarse and unadorned, merge with a difficult reality held just beneath the surface of silence. They know it— though each remains drawn inward by the gravity of self. No one pauses to weigh what is at stake. Yet a message begins— unformed, but insistent— moving through the charged air as the innocent gather, rising like a tide around the swelling crowd. Still, the drums continue, steady, unbroken, faithful to a vow they do not name. Sho...

 Voyager Propelled through the deep, A silvered, silent fighter, Drifting through the eons, Weightless and bright. Moving by its own momentum To gather pearls of data Hidden in the hollow dark. Incessantly, it catches Faint signals and mysteries— Signs for the inquisitive That will endure for decades, Or perhaps for forever. And as the satchel of wisdom fills, We leap toward distant galaxies To seek a favorable shelter For the future of us all. The metal bird proceeds, Tracer in the velvet void, Guided, it seems, By its own sweet will. By  Goutam Roy 

 Silent Stage In sultry weather the cloudy sky grows grave before the pouring shower. The air watches silently the drama about to unfold on the vast stage of the earth. The light dims. The trees stare upward, longing to quench their thirst in the scorching summer. A strange quietness enraptures the surroundings, holding all in stillness— as if the world itself has slipped into meditation. By  Goutam Roy 

 Iron Bird Birds once feathered now wear bodies of iron and climb the sky with a pride that outsoars them. From that cold height they claim the right to govern the fate of those below— bent over fields, struggling to live. The iron bird circles, hungry to drop its fire, reducing to ash the fragile shelters built by patient hands. Unmoved, it strikes its mark— as if destruction were merely another step in the name of progress. By Goutam Roy 

Iron canopy  Within the raven canopy of progress, stars suffocate. They wither in a soot-thickened grip, losing their light, bereft of bearing. Lungs labor against the iron, strangled by a chemical veil, while eyes weep rivers of salt and flint, stung by the city's ashen gale. Cool-breezed dawns, once the nectar of poets, are now forgotten whispers— ghosts swallowed by a fevered shroud. Existence teeters on demolition’s razor edge, where empires of bone and steel shatter in one, long, trembling breath.  By  Goutam Roy .

While The City Sleeps ​ A troop of monkeys moves with hunger folded into fur, speechless mouths snatching scraps from hands that look away. ​The blue sunrise sinks without promise. They scatter and return— centrifugal lives spun from the shade, from a lost belonging. ​Half-fed, they rummage through the hours, leaning against death as one leans against a wall— not to fall, not to hope, only to endure. ​Night arrives without ceremony. They huddle closer, sharing what crumbs remain— a silence passed from paw to paw, while the city sleeps. ​By  Goutam Roy