As you instructed, I have left my heart 

to poach with the gulab jamuns**. 

Soon the guests will be here 

to surround our table with laughter 

to appreciate just how divine the chicken curry is 

to talk of children currently going to university 

and grandfathers long gone 

to jeer at politicians and wives and praise the mosques

for salvaging the little dignity we have left.

and when they have overstayed their welcome, 

we will bring out the gulab jamuns 

cut them open 

watch the golden syrup dribble down their pores

the guests will be captivated of course, so they’ll want to have a taste

but when they do, it will be too saccharine

and the discussions, the laughter, the jeering will stop 

their heads will ache at the intoxication, their limbs made immobile

by the sheer abundance of sugar

they will grow ever paranoid of the idea that we have poisoned them

but will not say a thing  

while we laugh and assure them nothing is wrong, because there isn’t 

and then, as expected, they will go home

leaving us with their “goodbyes” and “see you soons” on the table, 

forgetting to close the door behind them, as always.