After a sprint for several years,
Amidst the din and bustle,
I sat one day, quiet… to think.
No phone, no plan, no subtle hustle.

The world kept spinning just the same,
But something in me asked to stay—
To watch the wind move through the trees,
To feel the weight of just one day.

I traced my steps in silent thought,
Each victory, each sleepless night.
Were all these miles I chased so far
Still burning with their promised light?

I didn’t judge, I didn’t grieve—
Just let the questions slowly land.
Had I been present as I ran?
Did I still know where I began?

There in that pause, I met myself—
Not the name or role I’d worn,
But something softer, more alive—
The part of me not built for scorn.

It whispered not of wrong or right,
But simply asked, with open grace:
Is this the path you meant to walk?
And do you know your truest place?

No thunder struck, no answer came,
Just stillness deep and strangely kind.
A quiet room, a steady breath—
The rarest peace: a quiet mind.

Somewhere beyond the ticking clocks,
A bird took flight without a sound.
The air grew light. The moment stretched.
Along the window rim, a star blinked.


Susanta Pattnayak

A journey long, through countless miles
Yet the heart, walks with smiles
Time took the glow, not the flame
Every new turn, is but a quite game.


The past leaves shadows, but none to blame,
I move through silence, to meet the divine.


Susanta Pattnayak

She dreams, no more.
The rise and the fall of the waves,
the dancing of the breeze,
the symphony of the wind,
the colors of the seasons,
the twilight, moonlit nights
all cease in smoke
under the suffocating arms of
some demonic beast
who ruptures her to dust.

She dreams no more.
Dreams have gathered dust
also a thick coat of rust.
Blurry in her mind, the day,
when she was caged
her voice was squashed
her wings were clipped
and was passed from hand to hand
for mere amusement and joy.

She dreams of
her mother, her father
in the darkness of
night, every night...
Spreading their hands from heaven
the two bright little stars
wait, twinkling for her
night after night, every night.

She dreams of
the strengths of the invincible
the powers of the inaccessible
to annihilate the brutality
and rest beside her mother
eternally till eternity.

The tree stood tall,
eyes lifted to the quiet of sky.
Its branches bore the season's pride—
a crown of leaves, dancing in light.

Among them, one—
a leaf brushed in green and gold,
clung close to its place.
The hush came softly,
a gentle breeze,
barely a whisper,
yet enough.

It loosened.

It let go.
And as the stem slipped from its hold,
the world tilted.

Fear first—sharp and quick—
of falling, of ending,
of the space between belonging
and being alone.

But the breeze curled beneath
like a secret promise,
and suddenly—
flight.
A quiet thrill, a floating wonder,
as if the sky had always been calling.

It spun, slowly, weightless,
and glanced back—
at the branch that once cradled it,
the siblings it played beside,
the early rains, the sunlit hushes,
the laughter of birds.

A pang—
not regret,
but a soft sorrow,
a love for what was!

Then came thought—
of life, of letting go,
of how even in descent
there is a reason.
Even as a fallen leaf,
it would dry, curl,
be swept, be burned,
warm someone’s night,
feed the roots of its mother tree,
become earth again.
It could be a bookmark,
a decorative piece —
reminding of beauty, of quiet change.

It understood.

And when it touched the ground,
it did not break.
It became.

Still, quiet,
yet filled with a knowing—
that even in this silence,
there was music.
Even in the end,
there was offering.
Even in the fall,
there was flight.

And above,
the tree swayed once,
not in mourning—
but in grace.

© Susanta Pattnayak