An Old Railway Line

In the death chamber confines

The soul of my mind

Handcuffed by tragedy

Sentenced to death penalty

Just close to a blink of my eyes

With an illusionary greetings

Of long lives

Standing before me

Face to face – My death.


Startled I’m like the whirl

Of the breeze on cobwebs

Hanging in every corner

Of this death chamber

Not in use for centuries

Neither I can blink my eyes

Nor breathe my breath


Asleep is the fireplace

With only ashes

Decomposed in wetted firewood

Neither the wisp of fire

Nor the glow of flame.


Rusty hinges on the door

Perforated by rust

Through which holes

Smirk the gloomy bored moon

Seeking shelter for a night

A moment of unpleasant and discontent

Moans like a wild beast


Severe wounds

In inner of the minds

Moans like a cry of spasm

By unwilling sexual desire

Seduced by the enemy

In the defeated war

Echoed from the walls around

Fearing to have an ear

Will shrunk

In the emptiness of the room


At any time the electric shock

May turn the body to ashes

Only a fistful of my breath

Remaining in my body

Will hurried to rebel by

Shattering every words of my poem


Like the old railway lines

Discarded after the war

Hides its originality

In the rust and grassy grooves

Rebels of another kinds

Like the silent crater of sleeping volcano

Erupts and scatters the lava on the earth

Every word of my inner minds

That’s collected in the coarse paper

Only sensed by my wounded heart

Indeed it’s my poem.


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lyrycsyntyme's picture

Enthralling, littered with

Enthralling, littered with isolation, deterioration, doom and ultimately - somehow - connection across time. A wonderful, if devastating write that practically emtombs the reader. At least this one.

saiom's picture

 It's a very powerful poem


It's a very powerful poem and you have a highly intelligent face.

I as someone who has seen daily miracles in India hope that God by whatever name you might, if a theist, call God.... convinces you that your existence is