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Showing posts with the label Philosophical and Existential.

The Silence Beyond Eden

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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?
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Bottleneck

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 Bottleneck They seek relief, relief from the trench, as if it were a hidden haven. But fate remains unmoved; their stoic state continues. The given arms seem invalid; a blitz rages within their hearts, beaten and bruised. A deep cry lies hushed in a corner of the chamber of the mind. The entire entity is in a bottleneck; there is nothing but to wait, wait, and wait, waiting for Godot. By Goutam Roy 
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Where the Road Forgets to End

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 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 
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Where the Dead Still Dream

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 Where the Dead Still Dream Do not open the graves. Let the buried dreams remain beneath the silent earth, where unfinished hopes sleep beyond the reach of human hands. For if the graves are opened, the dead may rise with stories of a hidden script— a drama conceived in darkness, written in the ink of blood, and performed by minds consumed by paranoia, poisoned by suspicion, and hardened against compassion. Do not open the graves. Let them rest in the stillness they have earned, far from the wounds of bullets, far from the weight of suffering, far from the burdens they carried through their brief lives. Do not open the graves. Let silence guard them. Let no hand disturb the final refuge of those who once believed in a creed that could not save them— a hollow faith left behind with their unfinished dreams. By Goutam Roy 
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