The Midnight Train

Rumbling at the forefront, the only frail defense,
I’m concealed behind my own view of misty charcoal,
An untoward lever of a cuckold whistle,
Awaiting when the approaching cavern lures in
The ghoulish gale that confiscated my emblematic top,
Yet hoping for it, a merciful cowcatcher I never met.

A knee jerk away from certain dismemberment
I tantalize the starving flames with the stale oil
Trying to fly with the lace that binds my feet
My sooty forehead runs deposits of chugging memories
That my steamy spade so exquisitely mourns.

The congealed scarlet bears my burden
As I circle out distant lights with my solitude
I marvel at their fickle character, their teleporting flux,
This routine wanderlust is just a contract in my briefcase,
A detour from the disbelief of loneliness.

I conjecture if my flags can stop stars from falling,
There are no arms for this protector,
Just a name, in this revolving shade of red and green,
A grieving forward of retreating landscape.

We abandon the Duke’s sigil in the rush of daybreak,
There are no chairs that your shoves would shatter
Except the hollow echoes of our own sadness
That carries this band of melancholic men
On the midnight train.

©sagnik_sarma

Comments

Home

Creaking doors in tumble down corridors Give away at the slightest push, Trembling legs make it to rest, As this ruse slowly strips away. The dilapidated bed struggles to support a fall, As the shabby blanket embraces a hollow form, Winds howls in through cracks in the window, And the moon checks in from time to time. Eyes peer through this veil of darkness, Light fades in the distance, Ever falling towards the seedy underbelly, Yet never reaching. The dusty floor covered in heaps of clothing, Cleverly conspires with the scorching heat, To hide those tears, That pour out from irreparable gaps of the heart. Wails from some invisible corner, Rouses from a sleepless slumber, Who is this shrunk, morose figure, That begs to leave. The mouth of a well, Overlooks the cold reservoir, Tugging at the damp rope, Oblivious of no escape. Dull and musty curtains, Waving in sympathy, Mourning at the dire sight, Of a soul trapped within itself. Loud knocks and comfo...

Lessons from Social Engineering

It is a common misconception that security is solely a technological problem. Companies and individuals may allocate a significant portion of their spending to design the best security policies, protecting themselves with the latest security products and hire personnel from the top security firms. But such entities are still vulnerable to attacks. Technology creates a false sense of security among people leading them to ignore the weakest link in security practices i.e. the human factor. Anybody who thinks that equipping themselves with the latest security products and technology makes them immune to attacks buys into this same illusion of security. Security should be viewed as a process and not a product and should be tackled not as a technological problem but a people and management problem. Why is that the case? It’s because the biggest threat to a business is a social engineer. It’s usually an unscrupulous, glib, friendly and obliging person that distracts you with his le...

Six Feet Of Ash

It's past that time of the evening when mosquitoes bite because anybody who decides to take a stroll at this hour is devoid of any substance. Post curfew, our only stimuli were groaning slum boys on cheap psychedelics and the stubborn hope that they'd drown out the screams inside us. Our senses are strange, they don't know when to stop and be idle, not dysfunctional just numb. I remember lying beside her when she told me, or rather warned me of what lay ahead. I assured her that I'd slay all the dragons, like a medieval king in that clichéd children's book that I loved. I couldn't notice how worried she was behind that pale smile, or how helpless she felt. Jane's in middle school now; I took a few pictures on her first day. She keeps complaining about her lunchbox; apparently I put in a lot of food and the teacher scolds her for wasting it. I guess I never really learnt proportions. How tall were you again? "Aye mister, here to see someone?...

Mind Tavern

Search This Blog