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Showing posts with the label Reflective

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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Fortress

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 Fortress Days seem shorter, nights stretch longer; an owl's hooting drifts like an omen through the silence. Everything seems weary— the trees, exhausted, struggling beneath the weight of dust and smoke; the birds, suffocating, stranded in a poisoned sky. Even souls lie choked, sinking into depths of unspoken anguish, gathering fragments of their dwindling strength to build within themselves a fortress against the siege of despair. By Goutam Roy 
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The Broom and the Broken Dawn

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 The Broom  and the Broken Dawn  Through the cracked walls, the sun peeps in, calling the child to leave his bed. The child lies still, clutching his shabby pillow, the one his mother had placed beside him before leaving for work. He does not know why she has gone, nor can he escape the weight of the day. From washing utensils to grazing the cows, his little hands must labour to keep the household alive. At last, he leaves his bed, bidding farewell to the fragile dreams that sheltered him through the night. His mother is already at her master's house, working for a living. The child stares at the waiting broom— hollow eyes, a sickly face, and a childhood that never wakes. By Goutam Roy 
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Treasures

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 Treasures Digging into the earth, you may feel the pulse of the past— still alive, though silent, waiting to find a voice through your intuition. They whisper of untold stories and unfinished words, inviting you to discover the hidden treasures buried deep within the earth. You may hear the cries of unfulfilled hearts, still searching for the path that leads to happiness. Dive deep into the heart of existence and discover the gems hidden at its very core. By Goutam Roy 
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New Epic

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 New Epic If those ancient days were to live again, when God walked near His children as their guide, an epic would be written once more, to steer the chariot of Time according to the Lord's will. The air would grow dusty, and the sun would hang hazy in the sky. The incessant play of loss and victory would continue amid the ruins of the world. Yet the presence of God would bring a solace capable of cooling the hearts of all. By  Goutam Roy 
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Succession

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 Succession  When humans, Earth’s brief tenants, fade, Their metal ghosts will drift above, While forests stitch through broken stone And reclaim what we once loved. Nature will not leave the throne Untaken in the end; From the deep, a boneless intellect May rise and ascend. Evolution turns its silent key— No crown is ours to keep; The next bright mind may open eyes From out the ancient deep.  By  Goutam Roy 
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Solitary Den

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 Solitary Den Millions of words rise, pulling others from their path— echoes in still air. Mediocrity reigns through the drift of passing years, subduing soft minds. Caged birds feel the ache; unseen souls weep silently, tears without a sound. The air grows stifled, hollow hearts ache for stillness— seeking a lone den. By  Goutam Roy 
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Muted Surge

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  Muted Surge Dried air with its wintry cool, the tired sun in a drowsy shine; dust-laden trees lie almost still as autumn takes its final leave. souls feel bruised  by the invisible wind  of winter- a wind that remembers.  Winter walks like Schubert's lonely cadence,  humming a faint song  through the cold dusk. Yet Nature keeps her coloured whispers.  A muted Surge rises in the heart, quiet but persistent,  trying to ignore the piercing chill- like an old tree holding decades of memory  in the roughness of its bark.  By Goutam Roy 
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