AND THEN—
I felt lonely — like the flowing waters, That flows o'er the hills and the plains, From the Himalayas or the Ullswater, Again through the ol' lane. 'Tis gone and will not answer, Like the graves that stood tenantless, And the hearts that still remained dead, — Like it was never alive. I also felt like the one among the crowds, And like the one who lost its voice in the shouts. I felt like a lonely star, Stranded in an abandoned alcazar. I wept at last, I wept again — Till tears and time did blend… And then—
— Du73s
26 / 10 / 25
Clouds of Love and Hatred
Today I went out searching for some alleviation, But the weather meant something different. Leaves roamed in varied direction, Air blew, hesitating to pass the suburb. I found my feelings in the setting sky- A sense of my past, A feel that everything is a lie; I was just staring at the setting sky. The pink clouds took place to grey, A sprinkle of the yellow moonlight- It changed my mind, It brought me to a new side. But then also I understood The real essence of love and life: Everything will pass by. I found my feelings in the setting sky- A sense of my past, A feel that everything is a lie; I was just staring at the setting sky.
— Duke Bhuyan Borah
01.05.2025
O' Garden
O' Garden What joy have you brought to me? The joyous life imbued with glee? A resplendent life alive From the flowers to the birds I can only seek love The lovely colors Blue, red and yellow I still think of that bluish fellow Peacock, of course! The velvet touch of the Butterfly Pea Woww! What a wonder to see And how can I forget the hibiscus It's just full of lust Oh! are you still wondering what is left? Yes, it is the scent It is far beyond what I've ever smelt The sparkling smell of the marigold Or the red smell of the rose Everything can be termed as the perfect morning dose. It looks even beautiful in the night Everything shines in the yellow moonlight The lake water twinkles along with the stars And the breeze just hush
— Duke Bhuyan Borah
12.05.2026
What the Window Left Behind
The Wind came through this window: and rushed out through the other. It stayed for a while, and broke the vase kept on the table. The vase's way was ruined It was crafted with efforts by the crafter, who put his heart and mind to it; only to find out, that the vase laid broken. The potter could not craft another vase; he tried hard and failed in his attempts. This vase wasn't built with lots of pre-planned thoughts, but it turned out to be his best. Life found out its way through the dark to meet you and it wasn't me who started the talks or who stopped sharing the folks: You broke a heart forever and I think it is difficult to craft again But time flows like rivers that don't turn back, carving new paths through stones that crack. The potter mourned what's gone to dust. He can't sweep the shards and place a new vase; but only stare at the broken pieces. So even if another breeze comes, soft and kind, and the light through the glass feels more aligned, a new vase might not take its place and if it does, it will take place not to replace, but to grace the space.
— Duke Bhuyan Borah