they say dying by suicide should not seem like an option
(in a world where we would rather admire silent suffering)
“you shouldn’t have” “i wish you knew that i cared” —
a person is like an apple with layers of lives lived and unlived
in the course of a simplified reality
(not for you to decide or decipher),
when they die by suicide (no one commits suicide),
the core is still not empty,
in their absence, your words are not solacing,
they are empty vessels (cyanide seeds of pilgrimage)
that mean nothing to a non-existent god.
i read that there comes a time when you realize
that you do not want to die anymore
but you’re just living the memory of wanting to be unalive,
to be buried in endless despair, so as to placate
the familiar need to stop it all.
i wonder if my skin is as supple as an apple’s —
if i cut it and square it for your consumption
(social media consolations and memorials),
would it bleed or would it not anymore?
would it hurt or would my lips quiver and pause…
to the sweet perfume of a fresh wound?
my blood clots at the thought of an apple
that may not be as sweet as it may look —
so shall i choose a pomegranate seed
to bind my life and plant it near my empty heart
(no space within)?
when i wish to return to what i knew best,
i feel the pull towards knowledge that this fruit
is yet to accumulate me, still to ripen before the fall comes.
.
© Anmol Arora
Image Source (Sebastian Black, Concerning taste let’s ask the apple: Hey apple sliced in half (muzzle). Hey you of black seeds and rotten core (whiskers,nose) of yellow skin, and stem split twain (mouth), of etc and also of etc. Who left you here on the round glass end table (head)? Are you sullying up the Eileen Gray “piece”, the Heath ceramic mugs (eyes)? Or are you, like the film of dry coffee, (pupils) adding just the right touch? Think about it. I’m gonna take a nap and if I’m sunlight when I wake up I’ll alight on you. But if I’m still just meat with arms I’m gonna move you (ears) over by the couch., 2016, Oil on linen, 60 × 45 inches / 152.5 × 114.3 cm, Unique)
Linking it up with my prompt about and on apples at dVerse later this evening
HA's Place 
Beautiful
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The start of this poem really pulls you in, the thought of suicide and how it ties you to the thoughts of the after, or maybe just exhaustion of living. The thought of slicing the apple and spread it out over social media makes me wonder if it’s then is an apple (or a life) any longer…
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The problem with suicide is it may not actually remove the suffering, but there is no going back to set things right afterwards.
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very deeply sad, sounds like you are exploring dark places … social media can never fulfil our need for quality human connections 🙂
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Powerful and existential stuff. Puts me in mind of MASH the movie, and the song “Suicide is Painless”. My first girlfriend had a brother who committed suicide by
leaping off a bridge over the freeway, and being struck by several cars. The family never got over it.
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distillation points for me here are suffering, emptiness, and too soon. provocative and honest considerations, Anmol
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i read that there comes a time when you realize
that you do not want to die anymore
but you’re just living the memory of wanting to be unalive,
to be buried in endless despair, so as to placate
the familiar need to stop it all.
I think we all are there at some time or another. It begins perhaps with apathy, the opposite of love. (Hate is not the opposite, to hate requires passion). We must have hope if we are to survive.
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a person is like an apple with layers of lives lived and unlived
in the course of a simplified reality
This is so true! We don’t taste the sweet or bitter until we get under the skin!
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Anmol, your apple song really sang to me. I have been there in the past and just recently I’ve been going through bouts of anxiety and depression. I always felt that other people preferred me to keep a stiff upper lip and suffer in silence, but I found out the hard way that there is always someone there to listen and share the pain. Your apple metaphor has bite. I like the asides in brackets – they come at just the right moments in the poem, and I really felt the lines:
‘my blood clots at the thought of an apple
that may not be as sweet as it may look —
so shall i choose a pomegranate seed
to bind my life and plant it near my empty heart’.
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I am pondering your deep wrestling with the shift of experience/age, and the meaning or purpose that fades, what is the purpose, is there any, who am I?
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Since a dear friend lost her beautiful daughter to suicide just before Christmas, your words touched my heart. Such a sad, but good write.
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We need to be vulnerable to each other and listen beneath the skin. I can vouch there is a God who spared my father from suicide and healed his mind. May He find you…
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That’s an Interesting use of pomegranate. Many cultures have thought that Adam and Eve, in the Garden of Eden, ate a pomegranate. I really like your distinctive use of imagery.
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This definitely gives one pause to think. You draw the reader in and fascinate with your musings.
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This needs to be published, Anmol. It is such a meaning-layered poem, as the imagery moves from the apple and extends out to
Humans.
“when they die by suicide (no one commits suicide),
the core is still not empty,“
The last stanza is thought-provoking, and brilliant. You have more to ripen before the fall. I relate to this ona personal level.
This is my new favorite of yours.
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