Goutam Roy

 After Sojourn The sun will set, dyeing the horizon crimson, calling everyone home to their nests, to ruminate upon the day's endeavours and reckon with what remains undone. The weary souls await another sojourn. The sun will plunge into the hollow abyss, only to rise again with the morning light. And the souls wait, beyond the fading dusk, to witness another dawn and resume their journey. By Goutam Roy 

 White Temple Again, a storm! At the door it knocks, seeking entry, threatening to topple the pinnacle of serenity— so transient, so fragile. Tender hearts cannot withstand the sudden blows; they bend, their heads bowing beneath the weight of sorrow, their eyes brimming with tears, yet fixed upon the White Temple. By Goutam Roy 

 The Theatre of Dreams Dreams drift through infinite dramas, staged incessantly in the theatre of time. Few find their bodies in the realm of reality; the rest remain suspended, staring at distant horizons. Laughter and tears share the same curtain, while hope and despair exchange their masks behind the scenes. Thus, life unfolds— a delicate performance, where joy rehearses sorrow and sorrow dreams of joy, beneath the unseen hands of an eternal playwright. By Goutam Roy 

 Seconds Time runs too fast,  allowing no pause,  no leisure to rest. Each fleeting fraction  of a second vanishes  into eternity's hollow,  bearing invisible particles  from one end towards the infinite,  never to return in its former guise. Countless seconds weave themselves  into a new history,  then dissolve along  their destined paths. They never turn back  to behold what they have left behind—  the footprints of existence  buried beneath the passage of time. By Goutam Roy 

 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 

 Mystery The dusty sky, stained grey with black, unfolds the tale of panicked wayfarers who came to fill their satchels with pearls— perhaps to answer the Lord's unanswered question with a gentle smile. But the hunger remains. Unsatiated souls stare into the flames where borders bleed, dreams crumble, and nameless children inherit the ashes of a paradise they never knew. Once, your footsteps purified the earth; your breath made the air sacred. Now, the winds carry the unfinished arguments of iron and fire, while the heavens keep their counsel. Who has stolen the silence of Eden? Who has taught the flowers to fear the footsteps of spring? Perhaps the giants are still at play, moving kingdoms across the chessboard of the earth, while pawns of flesh and blood fall beneath their hands. And you remain silent— you, who once dreamed of a paradise purified by your presence. Is your silence the last mystery of creation, or the permission by which the giants continue to reign? By Goutam Roy...

 Musk The sea wears the musk of tranquillity, while molten anger stirs beneath its skin. Yet the waves must flow, bound by the laws etched into the bones of eternity. Sometimes, they rise in fury, then retreat into silence, only to awaken their buried rage again. Here, creation and destruction dance in an endless cycle, each devouring the other to make room for what survives. And the sea remains— serene upon its face, a universe of unrest beneath. By Goutam Roy