“
To be hanged
He was in his cell,
Wondering about heaven and hell,
Because he was the one due to be hanged,
And throughout the night by old demons he was flanked and fanged,
He remembered everything, his every act,
That had turned him into the man whose conscience was never intact,
A victim of many vagaries and a flippant attitude,
Always surrounded by them in multitude,
But tonight, his last night, when he could dream, when he could imagine,
Think of a new hope maybe; and think of a new short battle that he could still win,
Because tomorrow by the afternoon he shall be dangling on the noose,
Which is already beginning to form a grip around his neck, though loose,
He imagined and conversed with his own mind,
And there he picked moments of happiness, whichever he could find,
And waited for the sun’s rays to enter his dark cell,
Where desires, wishes and hopes died and fell,
In their midst he held on to few moments of happiness, just a few,
To help him walk upto the noose and invent a form courage, totally new,
The sun’s rays gradually gathered in his dark cell and brightened it slowly,
As he looked at the walls hopelessly, but thoughtfully,
He looked perturbed but not demented or lost,
He knew it was the end of everything, his walk upto the gallows to be his steps last,
But he appeared to struggle with the invisible frost,
That had frozen his feelings and cast him in an emotional world where he was lost,
He was despondent, yes he was, you can say that,
But the man in him had not died yet, he had not allowed that,
So he walked with careful but slow steps towards the final knot that would seal everything for him,
And push him into the world where there will be nothing and noone except him,
For that is the tragedy of dying, you die alone, with no one but you,
But he had held on to his moments of happiness, as he approached the hangman, he asked him to do what he ought to do,
The look between the two, the one dying and the one to end life forever, was strange,
It was like a rose looking at its own scent, but looking at it, it felt it belonged to a different range,
Of emotions, of senses, of feelings, of every thought, and as the he let go of his moments of happiness,
The hangman covered his face and hanged him for the sake of justice, and then entered the moment of emotional stillness,
For he had executed a man whose body dangled on the rope,
A sight with which the hangman could not cope,
He turned his face around and then forced himself to be the hangman he is always meant to be,
Whereas the man who was just now hanged remained hanging forever in his memories, there now forever to be,
And in the dark cell where the sun’s rays still try to find him,
The man hangs on like the strange scent of the rose, in faint smells of the corners less bright and more dim!
”
”