What Was I Supposed To Think? Poem by NAYYAR SHABBIR AHMAD

I stand - or, is it, hide within the sanctuary of the kitchen and deliberate.
I had come 60 miles out of Town, to console my recently bereaved
father, who had - very naturally - been absolutely shattered over the
untimely death of my beloved Mother, .after 30 years of truly happy and

enviable wedded bliss....only to find that the incoherent and distraught
man of a month earlier had vanished and been replaced by the
verbose and gregarious Father, of old...complete with his new Lady
love...our erstwhile neighbour and my Mum’s best girlhood friend. The
friend’s husband had died a year earlier.

So, did that make it alright...? Both were now free of all restraints.
Neither looked as though either was grieving too much.
Or, was that my initial bitter assessment? They were grieving at their
own pace and in their own way - I guess.. But, all I saw at the time was

how they revelled in each other’s company - And, to my utter
amazement, she had obviously moved in with him.
Both sensed my discomfort and mute grief at not only my Mother’s

passing, but, my inability to comprehend the present quick, turn of
events. Both went out of their way to assure me that their nuptials were
not about to take place, immediately.. No. They were a whole year
away.

I made some vague excuse and fled the room.
After sme thought, I came to the conclusion that:

I loved my Father. Besides, there was nothing whatever I could do. I
had no option but to stand back and be a silent spectator. I mustn’t put
any obstacle in his way. If this is what he wants, I must set my own
reservations aside and support him.