in death as in life

picasso-la-mort-de-casagemas

how would my carcass look?—
empty or full,

or apathetic or scornful to all those who pass
by my unwavering blank eyes, with the archaic
virtues of respect for the dead — no, i do not
need that. i would want to hear the music of
flies and maggots on my beautiful blue skin,
like an adornment to horrify, a sacrilege to
the ritual of burning and burying secrets,

like a gruesome display of life and all that
it comes to when you take a longer than expected
pause from breathing, and seeing through fairy-
light eyes,

or would my limbs point at them without reproach
with my breath holding the remnants of smoke,
my skin translucent, and eyes closed, as i keep
on looking, and looking, for something.

perhaps the strangeness of my stillness (coursing through
my lifeless body) would be becoming on me.

perhaps i would look wanted and loved, the way i could not
feel when alive.

perhaps being organic refuse, i would be eaten from within
and out, and thus would discover who i am beneath all
these unknown persons i borrow myself from every day.

what a terrible tragedy it would be if it is not so,
if death like life would abandon me?—

a broken boy with silver trinkets gleaming
at the end
of sunlight.

.

© Anmol Arora

Image source (Pablo Picasso, La mort de Casagemas, 1901, Paris, musée Picasso)
Linking it up with the Tuesday Platform at With Real Toads

Advertisements

15 thoughts on “in death as in life

  1. Guess it’s best to try to live while the chances are best, you are pretty alive for being alive my friend. Death is just what it is, don’t pay it more attention than it deserves, every line you write lives.. quod erat demonstratum.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Pat: willow88switches says:

    I like the more personal aspects of the musings, the shorted word burst stanzas in this poem …. it adds that richness to the angst, the wonder, as if it’s the “adult child” pointedly pushing, demanding of death, answers, that life couldn’t or wouldn’t offer …. and yet, who is to know or say?

    I really liked these stanzas …

    perhaps the strangeness of my stillness (coursing through
    my lifeless body) would be becoming on me.

    perhaps being organic refuse, i would be eaten from within
    and out, and thus would discover who i am beneath all
    these unknown persons i borrow myself from every day.

    they work so well for the wording … and placement within the greater whole; on the whole, this is interesting for its narration, simultaneously distant and yet very intimate … this counter-play conversation works really well 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

      • Pat: willow88switches says:

        I’m not writing much of anything at the moment, and when I need to work through and cull my words to see what I have been doing, I “dim the lights” for awhile …. I’m considering hibernation for the winter 😉

        Liked by 1 person

  3. I took a selfie of myself with my eyes closed to see how I would look dead. I immediately decided to be cremated. You know I think all of us have these moments of wondering what would we leave behind, what is going on in the inside under the depths of us. I have visited death too much in the last two years to ponder on this. I am pondering more now what I give while living. Such angst is no longer for me. This discourse to me is rather, self absorbed although I do not mean to be hateful in my words. I am more content to think about my living than dying. I agree with Pat though, who is to know or to say?

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I wonder how many people ask themselves that question, Anmol. I have, but it was a long time ago. The end is closer now and I’d prefer not to think about it. But I like the way you’ve explored it, especially in the lines:
    ‘…i would want to hear the music of
    flies and maggots on my beautiful blue skin
    like an adornment to horrify, a sacrilege to
    the ritual of burning and burying secrets’;
    ‘perhaps being organic refuse, i would be eaten from within
    and out, and thus would discover who i am beneath all
    these unknown persons i borrow myself from every day’
    and
    ‘a broken boy with silver trinkets gleaming
    at the end
    of sunlight’.

    Liked by 1 person

Here is where you tell me something...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s