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Saptadeepa Das Poem
In the silent sky, a veil of clouds,
Within it, a shy little moon—
Hiding beneath the shade of green trees,
The city today feels like a taste of a dream.
The distant houses fall into stillness,
The lights fail to speak their words,
The breeze seems to whisper softly—
“This night is filled only with your sorrow.”
Even the moon peeks through the clouds,
Silently holding many words concealed,
My heart, as if along with it,
Travels far on unknown paths.
From leaf to leaf, a melody rises,
In the night’s song, a gentle fragrance,
In the heart of the city, filled with silent tunes,
Awaken the deep feelings within.
Sometimes an unfamiliar night arrives,
Where all words disappear,
Only the moon and the heart’s whispers
Compose poetry in the silence.
Copyright © Saptadeepa Das | Year Posted 2026
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Saptadeepa Das Poem
Ticking hands that never rest,
Marking moments, past and pressed.
Golden dawns and midnight skies,
Slipping softly, swift it flies.
A silent guide, yet none can stay,
Building dreams, then passing by.
Echoes fade, yet stars still shine,
In time’s embrace, yours and mine.
Seconds whisper, hours call,
Rising high, then doomed to fall.
A river flowing, never still,
Bending fate to match its will.
Laughter fades, and memories glow,
Shadows shift as seasons flow.
Hold them close or set them free,
Time moves on—eternally.
Copyright © Saptadeepa Das | Year Posted 2026
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Saptadeepa Das Poem
Playful clouds that wander free,
Drifting light in careless glee,
I gather them in secret ways,
Soft as whispers, shy as haze.
Softly gathered in silent hands,
Carried from distant, unseen lands,
Tucked away without a sound,
In my shirt’s small pocket bound—
Handful by handful, I hold them near,
Like quiet hopes, like unshed tears.
If ever sorrow dims your eyes,
And a single teardrop tries to rise,
I’ll scatter them like tender seeds
On the lashes where your silence bleeds.
They will fall as gentle rain,
Softly washing hidden pain,
Tracing lines on a barren chest,
Where secret rivers lie at rest—
Etched by fingers, faint yet deep,
Where unspoken longings sleep.
There, within that silent field,
Where wounds are sown and truths concealed,
A crop of sorrow starts to grow,
Fed by all we never show.
Yet this harvest, wild and true,
Will belong to none but you—
No other hand shall claim a part,
For it blooms within your guarded heart.
And like a farmer bound to land,
I stand with time and patient hand,
Tending fields both seen, unseen—
Of love, of loss, of what has been.
Copyright © Saptadeepa Das | Year Posted 2026
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Saptadeepa Das Poem
Time changes, and so do the ways,
Dispelling darkness, a new chariot blazes.
A new dawn shines with the light of hope,
Smiles on faces, hearts filled with faith to cope.
The smoke of corruption slowly fades away,
Society awakens on the path of truth each day.
With the melody of discipline, society is rebuilt,
A sense of responsibility makes hearts bloom and tilt.
Roads are formed, dreams begin to fly,
In the hands of youth, the future reaches the sky.
New thoughts emerge, new directions arise,
The nation advances with strength that never dies.
Respect for law and the people’s voice,
Become the loudest call for change and choice.
Farmers, workers, and the hopes of the new generation,
Together compose the language of development and transformation.
Can change ever come through words alone?
Work itself reveals one’s true identity known.
Now is the time to move ahead,
Now is the time to build a new age instead.
With the final smile of development’s fragrance bright,
A new song echoes on the road of progress and light.
In the changing times lives a promise anew,
For within this path rests the nation’s honor true.
Copyright © Saptadeepa Das | Year Posted 2026
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Saptadeepa Das Poem
There were nights when silence wore a crown,
And heavy clouds pulled every dream down.
The moon hid her face behind curtains of gray,
While hope seemed distant, drifting away.
I walked through valleys where echoes would stay,
Carrying burdens I could not convey.
The road was broken, the sky was unsure,
Yet something within whispered, endure.
For every shadow that darkened my sight,
Was born from a source that once carried light.
And every sorrow that watered my soul
Was shaping a heart still learning to grow.
I searched not for answers written in stone,
But for the courage to walk on alone.
To trust that dawn keeps its sacred vow,
Even when darkness surrounds me now.
Then slowly I noticed the smallest flame—
A kindness, a memory, someone who came.
A bird at sunrise, a flower in rain,
Tiny reminders that hope still remained.
The shadows did not suddenly depart;
They lingered awhile in the corners of my heart.
Yet light was never the absence of night—
It was the strength to continue the fight.
So now when the world grows restless and cold,
I gather the fragments of faith I still hold.
For beyond every shadow, however deep,
There are promises waking while dreamers sleep.
And beyond every fear, beyond every scar,
Shines a truth more constant than any star:
That no darkness is endless, no storm can stay,
For light is already finding its way.
So I journey onward, through loss and through glow,
Learning that becoming is slower than snow.
Seeking the light beyond every shadow I see—
And discovering, at last, that the light lives in me.
Copyright © Saptadeepa Das | Year Posted 2026
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Saptadeepa Das Poem
A single ray of winter's light,
Dances soft through frosty night.
Whispers of the snowflakes fall,
A gentle hush, a quiet call.
In the stillness, pure and bright,
Each flake reflects the moon’s pale sight.
A fleeting touch, so soft, so cold,
Yet in its glow, a warmth unfolds.
It paints the world in shades of white,
A shimmering veil, a silent flight.
The snow may fade, the light may go,
But in its ray, the cold will glow.
Copyright © Saptadeepa Das | Year Posted 2026
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Saptadeepa Das Poem
Not every land is born from beauty—
Some are merely drawn on maps.
But Assam was shaped by rivers,
By rain-soaked earth and ancient chants.
Here, the Brahmaputra does not simply flow;
It breathes—
Like a timeless guardian
Carrying the pride of generations
Upon its untamed waves.
The mornings arrive wrapped in emerald tea leaves,
Where dew rests softly
Like pearls upon a queen’s attire.
And when the first sunlight touches the gardens,
Even silence becomes poetry.
The forests of Assam are not empty wilderness;
They are living kingdoms—
Where the one-horned rhinoceros walks
With the dignity of a forgotten emperor,
And the wind through bamboo groves
Sounds like nature reciting sacred hymns.
In Majuli, the river cradles culture.
In Kaziranga, the wild still remembers freedom.
In every village courtyard,
The rhythm of Bihu rises like a heartbeat,
Binding people, soil, and sky together.
Assam is not only a place—
It is fragrance after rain,
It is the sound of distant drums at dusk,
It is courage blooming quietly
In the heart of nature.
While the world races toward noise and steel,
Assam still teaches the art of harmony—
How rivers can shape civilization,
How culture can bloom without losing roots,
How nature and humanity
Can still walk hand in hand.
And so, with pride,
We raise the name of Assam before the world—
A land where beauty is not borrowed,
Where tradition still breathes,
And where every sunrise whispers:
“This earth is blessed.”
Copyright © Saptadeepa Das | Year Posted 2026
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Saptadeepa Das Poem
Through corridors where echoes stay,
An advocate walks day by day.
With weary files and restless eyes,
Beneath the court’s unending skies.
Not every truth is clear and bright,
Some tremble softly out of sight.
Yet hope survives in every plea,
Like waves that rise upon the sea.
Between the laws, between the pain,
They stand through loss, through doubt, through rain.
For justice is a distant flame,
Still burning though the winds may change.
The black coat carries silent cries,
Of broken homes and unheard lives.
Each page contains a human storm,
A wounded soul, a trembling form.
There are battles no one sees,
Hidden behind legalities.
A calm voice masking heavy strain,
A smile concealing private pain.
Still onward walks the heart so brave,
Not seeking glory, wealth, or praise.
But searching through the noise and fear,
To make the voice of truth appear.
And though the road is long and worn,
Where faith and disappointment mourn,
An advocate still chooses light—
A journey between hope and truth.
Copyright © Saptadeepa Das | Year Posted 2026
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Saptadeepa Das Poem
One lonely evening, beneath a silver moon,
I sat with Silence in a quiet room.
No words were spoken, no voices stirred,
Yet somehow every feeling was heard.
I asked, "Why do you follow me so near,
In moments of joy and moments of fear?"
Silence smiled through the stillness of the night,
And wrapped my restless thoughts in gentle light.
"I come," it said, "when the world grows loud,
When dreams are hidden beneath a cloud.
I am the pause between each breath you take,
The calm that remains when your heart may ache."
I told Silence of roads I could not see,
Of lost tomorrows and who I wished to be.
It listened softly, without judgment or haste,
As if every sorrow had purpose and place.
Then Silence whispered, "Look deep inside,
For truth and courage there often hide.
The answers you seek are not far away;
They bloom in your soul with each passing day."
The stars leaned closer, the darkness grew mild,
And Silence regarded me like a child.
No grand advice, no miracle to show—
Only the wisdom of learning to grow.
When dawn arrived with its golden hue,
Silence faded gently from view.
But it left a gift that remains with me still:
A quieter heart and a stronger will.
And now when life's storms darken the sky,
I no longer ask Silence why.
For I have learned what few voices can teach—
That peace is not found; it is something we reach.
Copyright © Saptadeepa Das | Year Posted 2026
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Saptadeepa Das Poem
In the cool, damp breeze of early dawn,
the courtyard lay silent, as if asleep.
Suddenly, the fallen jasmine blossoms smiled softly and said—
“Why have you left me lying on the ground like this?”
The courtyard breathed in silence and replied—
“You were once a star of the sky,
a dream that spread fragrance in the darkness of night.
I am only your final shelter.”
The blossoms said in a shy tone—
“Final?
Does everything that ends still carry such sweet fragrance?”
The courtyard smiled faintly,
as the morning light fell gently along the walls—
“Fallen flowers are the most beloved.
When they are on the tree, people only look at them,
but when they fall to the ground, the heart feels them.”
A soft, moist breeze arrived
and made the jasmine petals tremble.
They asked again—
“Then am I lost?”
The courtyard replied with tenderness—
“No, you are memory.
The childhood hidden in a mother’s lap,
the morning of prayers,
and the fragrance of someone’s silent love.”
Then both fell into silence.
Only the morning sun
gently kissed the fallen jasmine blossoms,
and the courtyard opened its heart
to embrace that lingering fragrance.
Copyright © Saptadeepa Das | Year Posted 2026
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