Goutam Roy

 The Earth's Broken Cadence  Before names were spoken, the Earth held us all in the hush of her breathing. From her patient touch each heart learned its first rhythm. She moved through seasons like a quiet song— steady, unbroken— guiding root and wing alike. Now our axes clip her sacred breath; her veins fall dry to dust, and her memories fade into our toxic air. Summer steals winter’s place, the monsoon wanders astray, and spring forgets its flowers. In our blindness we have tangled creation’s chords, and the ancient music of the world fades into a silence we ourselves composed. By Goutam Roy 

 Vigil of the Western Sky At the quiet close of day, the sun withdraws to his rest, as though contemplating the burden of tomorrow— to rise again and pour his golden sustenance upon the breathing world. Behind the veil of darkness he conceals his radiant face, entering a silent meditation, reflecting on the endless pulse of eternity. Thus the cosmic sentinel keeps watch over the sacred order, guarding the fragile family of life in humble obedience to a will older than time. By  Goutam Roy 

 Banyan’s Embrace The Earth offers shelter to travellers— like the banyan’s shade— for a while, from the incessant sojourn through the unknown regions of eternity. They rest here till their allotted days in her lap of motherly affection. Spending borrowed hours, they bid goodbye and drift again toward another journey— in new form, new face. No names are asked, no paths are judged; for a fleeting moment all journeys become one beneath her shade. 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 

 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 

 Autumn’s Last Cadence  The air turns brittle with early winter; a languid sun drifts across the pale sky. Dust-cloaked trees barely stir while autumn quietly withdraws. 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 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