Goutam Roy

 Entropy: Is It the Will of God? Shattered glass can never be made whole again. The bygone days can never be reclaimed. Lost youth can never be revived. No matter how fiercely we struggle, we can never return to what has gone forever. The vast tapestry of human existence has reigned across the centuries, only to crumble and leave behind the traces of what once was. From the Neolithic world to the Sumerians, from Egypt to the Indus Valley, from Babylon to Minoan Crete and Mycenaean Greece— how many civilizations have risen and disappeared beneath the turning of time's eternal wheel? The Creator creates and destroys, according to a will beyond human understanding, through universes and multiverses. Creation and dissolution continue without end. Yet, in the imagination of the dreamers of the cosmos, there may come a day when time itself will engulf everything and fall silent forever. But can the will of the Almighty ever be brought to an end? Perhaps, beyond the last darkness, it will...

 The Rain That Never Asks The rain returns from the dim corridors of time, its ancient radiance softened by an endless pilgrimage between sky and earth. Again it descends, as it has descended since the first dawn of creation— without question, without desire, without a voice of complaint. It watches silently as mortal joys arise, as sorrows take root, as lives bloom briefly and disappear into silence. Yet the rain remembers nothing. It does not pause to measure human stories or ask what becomes of all that it nourishes. It simply gives— falling upon fields, forests, rivers, and stones, offering itself to the thirsty earth. Perhaps this is the rain's eternal wisdom: to fulfil its nature without seeking praise, to serve creation and ask nothing in return. And perhaps, like the rain, the noblest souls are those who give quietly, leaving behind no demand for remembrance. By Goutam Roy 

 When Wings Grow Weary Weary birds descend upon the quiet branches, folding their restless wings beneath the fading light. For a little while, they ask the sky for mercy— a pause from the endless flight, a silence from duty’s call. Their tired eyes wander into the waiting hollow, where thought loses its way among the shadows of eternity. Perhaps every journey must finally surrender, and every weary wing find stillness after striving. Perhaps rest is not an ending, but the gentle threshold where the burden of becoming dissolves into the infinite. By Goutam Roy 

 The Eternal Dance Sometimes the sky breaks open, sometimes the silence blooms— and life moves between them, like a river between two shores. The ocean rises in fury, then folds itself into stillness; the earth, patient beneath it, receives both storm and calm. So turns the boundless universe, never pausing in its journey— creation following destruction, renewal emerging from loss. What we call an ending may only be a hidden beginning; from the ashes of yesterday, tomorrow quietly takes its form. O wondrous cosmic mystery— within every storm, a peace; within every ending, a birth; within every silence, eternity. By Goutam Roy 

 Lame Assurance Yet we hope— perhaps because we have learned to hope, though fortune drops into our palms only a morsel by chance. Age after age, we beg from you, and you, in the shadow of your supremacy, turn our hungers into fuel for power. We, the meek lambs, gaze vacantly toward your throne, waiting for the promised grace. You return in different forms, beneath different banners, yet your words wear the same face— a lame assurance to keep us waiting, to keep us hoping. And perhaps that fragile hope is the invisible chain that keeps us beneath your shadow. By Goutam Roy 

 The Unfinished Map When time falls silent, faded memories awaken, lingering in a guarded chamber where years have folded them away, waiting for the mind to turn their pages again. Numb with longing, I gaze into the void, searching for fragments buried beneath forgotten days— a quiet pilgrimage toward the person I once was. The mind becomes a cartographer, tracing the lost geography of identity along the ink-dark rivers of vanished remembrance. Memories, stubborn wheels, keep turning across the blank parchment of the present, leaving behind the contours of yesterday. From those scattered shadows a silhouette slowly rises— stitched with echoes, frayed by time, yet fierce enough to endure. No fixed harbour contains the self; no final map can define it. The winds of memory keep pushing the vessel onward, while every wake it leaves becomes another line upon the unfinished map of being. Perhaps the self is not what memory preserves, but what emerges from the journey between what was, wh...

 The Eternal Pilgrim The child knows nothing of the long sojourn ahead, stepping from a sheltered haven into the light of the world. Wonder keeps him busy with laughter and love until a schoolbag ushers him into boyhood. Mother Nature, unseen, guides his wandering feet toward the restless dawn of awakening youth. The journey goes on, gathering pearls of wisdom from the tides of time. Seeking the hidden “I,” the youth slowly becomes a man. He turns toward the blurred past, his satchel heavy with pearls, and walks with quiet grace toward the eternal sojourn. By Goutam Roy 

 The Wheel of Time How many known things have remained mysteries, and how many mysteries have become known things under the reign of the Wheel of Time? Who can tell? What is now a desert may once have rested in the womb of an ocean, cradled by waves beneath an ancient sky. Perhaps Nature, in her inscrutable whims, withdrew the waters from an ancient sea, leaving behind the memory of its depths. Where waves once wandered, winds now wander; where marine life once moved, silent sands now sleep. Strange creatures that once inhabited those waters have surrendered their forms to the patient hands of time, becoming fossils— enigmatic pages in the book of the Earth. The Sahara still carries memories millions of years old, traces of vanished seas and the restless movements of the ancient Tethys. Through geological upheaval, climate, erosion, and the ceaseless turning of the planet, the face of the Earth has been rewritten again and again. Yet beneath the desert sands the past remains awake—...

 Sometimes Storm, Sometimes Peace Sometimes a storm, sometimes peace— life and nature move as one, the restless ocean, the tranquil earth, engaged in an endless play of opposites. The infinite universe turns and turns, its ceaseless motion carrying on, through cycles of ruin and renewal, within an eternal cosmic rhythm. Oh, what a wondrous, boundless play— where endings dissolve into beginnings, and from the ashes of the old, the Infinite gives birth to the new. By Goutam Roy 

 The Eternal Flow Before time learned its first name, silence was already awake. An unseen presence leaned into that stillness, as though remembering a homeland never reached, yet never lost. The mind breaks into immensities— one universe birthing another; circles unfolding within hidden circles, each striving to speak the unspeakable. Forms arise, flicker, and fade— like hesitant light poised between presence and absence. No boundary remains. No measure endures. Only a quiet unveiling, veil upon veil falling away from the changeless heart of being. Beneath every beginning, beyond every ending, there is neither emptiness nor form— only the eternal flow, moving without motion, the boundless force from which all things emerge, and to which all things return. By Goutam Roy 

 Tea Stall All day long, people gather at the tea stall, sitting in quiet anticipation for a steaming cup of tea. Their eyes remain fixed upon the simmering pan where fragrant tea is brewed to satisfy their gentle intoxication. Their patience endures only a few minutes, yet their devotion to a single cup of tea runs too deep to be expressed in words. So the ritual goes on— like life's endless sojourn upon this restless planet, forever yearning for forbidden fruits. By Goutam Roy 

 Touchstone It is time to return to the nest, after long hours of weary flight. The birds, exhausted, yearn for rest within the cool hush of gathering dusk. So too the tenacious mind seeks repose in a quiet haven, leaving behind the clamour of the world. It descends into its own unfathomed depths, where silence outlives every echo and the soul, at last, discovers its touchstone. By Goutam Roy 

 Soccer The twenty-two stand in stern resolve, their single aim— to drive the round orb into the net raised upon four posts. Crores of souls watch with clenched jaws, caught between hope and agony, yearning for the orb of laurels that grants a place in the pages of eternity. The exposition of skill and craft goes on relentlessly. By Goutam Roy 

  Rain The rain looks wan, Losing its radiance. It seems weary, Repeating its endless Cycle of coming And returning to its abode Since the primordial ages. Indifferent, the rain watches How long the tales Of joy and woe Will linger Among living beings. Yet, by its own will, It carries out its duties, As pious souls Serve all creation. By Goutam Roy 

 Unmoved Ship Without warning, the storm bared its sharpened teeth, joining hands with the relentless rain over the Atlantic, where a laden ship held its course through the gathering dusk. The sea rose in fury. Towering waves hurled themselves against the hull, as though they would board the vessel with the raging rain. Upon the bridge, the resolute captain guided the ship with quiet resolve. The struggle swelled to its fiercest pitch— ship against sea, an echo of the primordial contest woven into creation itself. Yet the unmoved ship sailed steadily toward its destined harbour, faithful to its calling, as the soul crosses the boundless ocean of life. By Goutam Roy 

  Strife Apparently placid, the sea, with gentle ripples, seems scarcely turbulent. Yet beneath its flowing depths, near the sleeping volcanoes of primordial ages— perhaps once ablaze with fury, spewing molten lava to reshape the world according to its own will. Unaware of the hidden danger, the ocean drifts on, bearing the messages of creation. Thus the strife of creation and destruction goes on through every sphere of the universe. By  Goutam Roy 

 Hollowness Strange it seems to feel that within the vast hollowness of the universe— where only a fraction is held by countless stars and planets, forming celestial families of enduring companions— year after year they linger, dazzling the deep black abyss, as if beckoning trust into the hearts of homeless pilgrims journeying through their transient, allotted days. Strange it seems to feel that within this hollowness lies hidden the mystery of creation. By Goutam Roy 

  Endless Path The journey down this road has continued since immemorial ages; none can say when it first began. None can tell where the road emerges from, nor where it finds its end. It drifts onward through an endless expanse, as though destined to continue forever. No one knows the purpose of this pilgrimage, yet each of us must tread this endless path. By   Goutam Roy 

 Beyond the last flight  Weary birds descend, Through the hush of fading light— Branches welcome rest. Folded wings grow still, Silent prayers drift with the dusk, Toil forgotten now. Beyond evening's veil, Thoughts wander to unseen shores— Silence waits beyond. Last flight softly ends, Burdens fall like autumn leaves— Time releases all. Restless hearts at peace, Merging with the infinite— Calm without an end. By Goutam Roy 

  Checkmate In the inland realm of the mind, A ceaseless struggle unfolds— A battlefield as relentless As the contest upon a chessboard, Where forces stand arranged, From pawn to king and queen. Throughout the course of life, Every move seems woven Into a pattern of perfect order. Yet fate, seated on the other side, Plays its subtle and deceptive moves, Seeking to checkmate the soul And claim victory at the end. Many cherished dreams Remain unrealized, Their intended moves left unplayed. Still, relentless effort endures, Striving against the odds To triumph in the game of life.