Stepping into unknown spaces,
Courting crumpled sheets,
Sporting effortless travelers' look,
Settling between a sleep and snooze,
Listening to every creak, footstep,
Every drunken conversation across the street,
Loyally responding to midnight mails and messages,
Playing with puddles to walk past time,
Tiptoeing to a road still unprepared for me to step into.
Back home, sleeping in a makeshift bed in an ex-gym setting,
Damp walls bragging his weight records,
White sheets, pillows, Ipad blasting away with unknown tracks,
Remind me that what makes me today is what makes me not--
Regular is the biggest exception,
Work is home, while home a play tent!
So, I visit places that host my losses:
New England and England both,
Calling them home to justify closures,
When in reality, all I am is just a grief tourist,
Seeking out cafes, roads, parks to seal my memories
Becoming a distant story teller with attempted detachment,
Ignoring torn todays and tragic tomorrows,
Rushing to the last page, adding a dash of fiction,
Changing the tone to a publishable ending,
Through words waiving discomfort,
Through poems becoming correction pens…
Risking unfair erasures.
Rubana Huq writes creatively and is also the Director of the Mohammadi Group.