Shutting the World Out

He'd suffered heartbreak,
Or had his mind twisted by book, talk or thought,
Reckoning he no longer needed the world,
He attempted to shut it out,
But who in truth even knows what it is,
Let alone outrun it.
He drew lines and curves,
Setting boundaries for himself and others,
Resisting human and excess material contact,
Was he happy or not?
Strange indeed are man's needs,
He wants people but prefers alone,
It is not a balance that he seeks,
He constantly craves the other when in one,
His inner turmoil kindled by himself,
He blames the outer world for it,
And the world, no matter how hard he tries,
Seeps in, like a heavy flood into a weak house.

The End?

Does death end a person?
Perhaps the soul is trapped,
In a motionless body,
Crying out to not burn or bury,
Still feeling pain and agony,
In spite of inertness or decay,
While we, being hasty beings,
Carried away by what we deem right,
Pay no heed to such calls for help,
Discard the carcass mercilessly,
Like a kid would throw a toy,
That refuses to dance anymore.

The Walk to the Scaffold

They held his hands from both his sides,
Down the narrow passage,
Their steps echoed forth,
But hardly heard by him,
His feet felt like heavy iron shoes,
His limbs numb, refusing to move,
He dragged himself forward,
His heart pounding hard,
Knowing these were its last beats
He tried to cherish every tread,
Knowing they wouldn't be retraced,
His throat was parched, his lips dry,
His eyes trying to cry,
He couldn't hear, couldn't think,
Couldn't even gulp,
Couldn't say a thing,
He tried to dry his eyes, to think of his life,
To regret his crimes, but remorse wasn't going to pay,
His loved ones seemed aeons away,
It mattered not, they'd forsaken him,
Now nothing was going to change,
No friends, no wife, no family could help him now,
His life stared back at him, an empty heap of thoughts,
He struggled within, his heart racing,
Until it settled on him,
He gave in, stopped resisting,
Letting it fill him up,
All he wanted now was for it to end,
And as quick as that could be,
He raised his head, glanced at the scaffold,
And it returned his empty gaze.

*Written on 20th May, 2016 at 5:53am at B001, H13, IIT Bombay while watching Jesse Pinkman being tortured on Breaking Bad
Title was previously The Walk to Death