bhaskar saikia

People often ask me why I write songs.

The honest answer is—I don’t. At least, not in the way most people imagine.

I write poetry. I write feelings. I write moments, pauses, unsaid things. I write what lingers after a thought has passed and what remains when noise settles. Poetry has always been my first language.

But poetry, I’ve learned, is a lonely form.

Not because it lacks depth—quite the opposite—but because it asks the reader to slow down, to listen carefully, to meet the words halfway. And in a world that prefers immediacy, poetry is often labelled boring before it is even given a chance.

Songs, on the other hand, travel faster.

They reach places poetry often doesn’t. They hum in the background, slip into memory, get replayed, shared, felt without explanation. Songs don’t ask for patience first—they offer emotion immediately.

So I asked myself: What if I didn’t abandon poetry, but carried it elsewhere?

That’s when I started writing songs.

Not by changing what I feel—but by changing how I deliver it. I took the essence of my poetry—the restraint, the longing, the pauses, the silences—and let it move with rhythm. I let melody do some of the speaking. I allowed repetition where poetry might resist it. I let emotion breathe differently.

The result?

Honestly—too early to say.

Some songs are out. Many more are written. Some will probably never leave my notebooks. But isn’t that how most honest efforts begin? Uncertain, imperfect, unfolding slowly?

In 2025 alone, I wrote more than 40 songs. That number surprises even me.

Not all of them are meant to succeed. Some are meant only to teach me how to write the next one better. Some exist because they needed to be written, not released.

And I am hopeful.

Hopeful not because results are immediate, but because I understand something now that I didn’t before: every sincere effort takes time to reveal its meaning.

I don’t see song-writing as a destination. It’s a bridge. Between poetry and people. Between silence and sound. Between what I feel deeply and what others might feel too—even if only for three minutes.

At least till 2026, I know this much: I will keep writing songs. Not because poetry failed me—but because poetry wanted another way to be heard.

And maybe, one day, someone will listen to a song of mine and feel something they can’t quite explain.

That would be enough.

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Some of my songs are out now and can be found on this YouTube channel, MusicEarendel.

If you’d like, please listen—and if it resonates, feel free to subscribe. Thank you for being here.