Conversations end with half nibbled canapés, 

Strewn all across the coffee tables 

Signs of half hearted consumptions 

In a space where food matters the least 

And discourses the most 

Of attempting expected, yet redundant discourses

Including grief and distress;

Somehow, condolences come in strangely familiar forms of…

Conveying what a man he was!

Or, things never being the same without him.

Worst is the 'this too shall pass' bit

When of course, time shrouds grief,

Delegitimizes desires,

Throttles thirst.

Only the stubborn strong knots of longing 

Wait for the whiff, the blue and the canvas footwear

To dash through the door 

Smashing obits and ahareys 

Along with the curses of consolation 

To indulge in a bowl of mochmocha-muri-chanachur mix.

He's here this minute.

Wiping his muri-makha hands in the pockets of his kurta.

I can see him; you can't.

Rubana Huq is a poet and writer. She is also the Managing Director of Mohammadi Group.