Goutam Roy

  Cataclysm A foreboding hush Enveloped the ambience. The cackle of demons Drifted through the air, While an owl's hooting Warned the timid rabbits To hide deep Within their dens. After a little while, Countless thunders Would shake the earth With fatal fury. Every living thing Appeared gloomy, Trembling in fear Of approaching doom. Perhaps it was The predestined plot Of a cataclysm. By Goutam Roy 

When the Sky Remembers  In the dark, rain does not fall— it arrives with intent, hand in hand with the storm. Lightning writes its brief, violent script across a sky that no longer remembers blue. Thunder— unceasing— like a verdict echoing through the hollow of time. As if nature, long patient, now turns upon us— not in anger alone, but in memory: of a beginning when the sky was whole, and we had not yet learned to darken it. By  Goutam Roy 

 Last Lap At the edge of the final lap, they slow— the weight of distance settling in their bones. Youth fades to a trembling ember in the wind of time. Breath breaks— each step a climb, each pause a quiet surrender. No tears remain, yet deep within  a silent tide strikes the ribs of memory. The world falls away. Time steps aside. Still, they move— toward that unseen abode where the runner becomes the path. By  Goutam Roy 

 The Fading Breath Of Earth  The perforated Ozone Layer invites a silent shower of ultraviolet rays, bearing whispers— messages of doomsday. Yet rockets drift relentlessly, probing the void, seeking to resolve infinite mysteries— perhaps to bridge this planet with distant worlds afar. Meanwhile, the once-adorned Earth fades from living green into a weary grey. By Goutam Roy 

 The Irresistible Call of the Void Cradled in the womb of the silent cosmic hollow, the mind loosens its earthly tether and drifts— not outward, but into the infinite within. It seeks no dwelling, yet wanders through unseen realms, as if memory itself belongs to the stars. Far from the noise of form, it sips the hidden nectar of formless serenity, beneath a sky that glimmers like eternal thought. A whisper— not heard, but known— calls from the depth of the unknown. Drawn by that ancient pull, the mind descends into unfathomed stillness, gathering luminous pearls from the ocean of the unmanifest. What summons it cannot be named— yet nothing resists. For this is no journey, but a return to the boundless silence from which all longing is born. By Goutam Roy 

 Nature's  Evening  Call Evening, robed in gentle shade, enraptures the silent land. A serene tranquility settles upon all things. Wearied by the day’s long struggle, the world grows still— and nature softly beckons every soul to pause. In the hush of night, it calls us to meditate on God, to smooth the weary mind for the journey of the coming dawn. By  Goutam Roy 

 Abyssal Harvest I dive into the hollow ocean’s maw, gathering from its silence pearls that shimmer cold. They fill my weathered satchel with a faint, ashen glow. In the ink-black deep I search for light that kindles shadowed chasms. Still I move toward jagged horizons— uncharted worlds bright with untamed joy. By  Goutam Roy 

 Echoes Behind the Cracked Walls  Solitude consorts with whispered shadows, reigning in the cold, stale air of a house long deserted— forsaken by those who fled in terror. The cries of ill-fated souls, still echoing, weave through cracked walls a tapestry of raw anguish. They bear the silent scorch of a lover’s fury— a wound carved by a lost beloved, a kin of the house’s keepers, a self-murderer’s final breath. One storm-darkened evening, while music danced and laughter spilled like wine, hyenas clawed through flame and smoke— even children’s screams snapped in the fire’s jaws. The once-bright house sank into hellfire, its mirth dissolving into ash and silence. Now they linger, trapped between walls, waiting— to unbind themselves from the haunted housel By  Goutam Roy 

 The Sea of Sojourn  In this brief sojourn, some gather pearls in their satchels and quietly return home. Others wander for ages, bearing the weight of living, toiling on barren shores. So flow the streams of life, driven by an unseen force no mind can fully fathom. In the vast sea of existence, creation rises and falls with the restless waves. Still, the divers descend— seeking the hidden gems below, to quench a thirst carried across ages. By Goutam Roy