When Silence Walks In

Do his eyes see our failures, or our hopes?

Rays of Happiness

The sun’s rays
travel through the breast of space,
carrying whispers of joy.

Yet in the heart of darkness
they wander, rootless—
a silent question of being.

Planets and moons
reflect the light,
not happy alone,
but making others shine.

Some rays embrace the Earth,
clothing trees, grass, and forests
with life’s breath.
Happiness—
a quiet giver,
without claiming a name,
yet gifting itself to all.

An endless gathering of rays—
happiness spreads ceaselessly,
everywhere,
from a heavenly source.
Even in the Earth of the heart,
even amidst emptiness,
its glow remains.

The loving Earth
teaches us this silent truth.
Yet we, unwise pretenders,
cling to others,
seeking happiness outside,
leaving our own hearts barren.

Like space itself,
these confused hearts—
even bathed in light
remain unable to glow,
foundations of darkness.

🌿 From the heart of Jibon Gogoi © 2025

The Irony of Being

🎀Meaning is our most beautiful illusion..

To exist is to change, and to change is to live

Ancestral Window

🌱The Window That Remembers: A Lament for Ancestral Hearts in an Artificial Age🌾

In my small room
I lean once more into the window—
not toward the world outside,
but toward the unseen marrow of time.

Inside this vessel of modern flesh
I sought the heart of my grandparents,
a pulse not written in machines
but in silence, in soil, in breath.

I wept—
for their heart slipped away from me,
like water refusing the shape of glass.

One day the window will be ironed shut,
the road below polished smooth,
an infinite mirror of artifices
stacked upon themselves.

When the mirror consumes reflection,
people without heart will dissolve.
No homes for the aged,
only an unseen poison—
the new hemlock of our century,
farewell without witness.

So remember:
keep the window ajar,
even if memory falters.
Sometimes step into it,
to ask the oldest question:
Who are you
when no machine is watching?

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The window waits—open it, and you may find yourself.

🌿 From the heart of Jibon Gogoi © 2025

🌿 “Hello, dear new friends! Thank you for following this page. I look forward to sharing thoughts, stories, and inspiration with you. Your presence makes this space more meaningful.” 💚

This poem was born from the soil of Assam, a land where fields, rivers, and forests have carried the footsteps and breath of countless generations. In my walk along a deserted path, I felt the presence of my forefathers—farmers who had tilled the earth with sweat and hope, who had lived with both hunger and dignity.

The poem speaks of roots—both literal and ancestral. It is a reminder that when the world worships only money, when words lose their truth, our roots begin to wither. And with them, the strength of communities, the memory of traditions, and the very breath of the earth.

Though grounded in Assam, this experience belongs everywhere. Every culture has its dust, its fields, its ancestors. The roots we carry are not only personal—they are human. This poem is an invitation to remember, to listen, and to keep those roots alive.

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🌱 In the silence of the fields, I heard the footsteps of my forefathers. This poem is a reminder that when we forget our roots, the world itself begins to wither.

🌍🌷

The Roots

I have carried in my chest
for many days—
a heavy pain.

Today,
through the window,
I walked the road again.

Dust.
Silence.
A fold, a bridge.
The deserted path.

With each step—
the world stirred awake.

In the dust—
my steps
merged with the footsteps of forefathers.

In the air—
my breath
touched their breath.

Dust and breath.
Step and silence.
Past within present.

The fields watched me—
sweat, hunger,
a longing for seed.

Through the veil of time
they came—
father,
grandfathers.

They gazed into me:
body, broken;
mind, corroded.

The lust of the age—
its glitter,
its stench.

And then their voice:

“If money is master,
if words are hollow,
the roots will wither.
The roots will rot.
The roots will fall to dust.”

Silence again.
Dust again.
Breath again.
The roots calling:
Do you still remember?

🌿 From the heart of Jibon Gogoi © 2025

The Window : (Through the Whispers)

Before eternity I am nothing—yet within existence, I remain unrepeatable.

🌌 When silence becomes the evening’s only answer…