elegy written in a redbrick house

the postman plods his weary way

eternal bag slung over shoulder

comes up to me at the unearthly hour

when evening azan brings dusk tumbling

down like playful children somersaulting

and i don't know what we're at –

if it's the end or beginning of something

no doubt stars are up there somewhere

too shy to twinkle in polluted air

and every now and then a super blood moon –

phrase redolent of nocturnal shoot-outs

in the wildest of wild west westerns –

appears on tv news and in astrology columns –

lucky for you to escape such sublunary concerns –

yours is the calm of contemplation and compassion

out of which you've sent us a beguiling parcel

the postman hands over ceremoniously –

the wrapping torn off flutters away like sparrows

and i am holding in my hand a shiny ceramic brick –

bemusement gives way to sudden illumination –

i ring your doorbell, call out names frantically –

baby rene partha chukku bachchi

and the friends i know are supposed to come too –

tipu all the way from chicago and kochi

and nausheen and ekram bhai from new york

already busy grilling katla fish –

i place the brick at the centre of the table –

at once your presence pervades our mindscape

now we know why the sight of redbrick houses

sent a pang every time we passed them by –

redbrick like signature or fingerprint is you –

at dessert i know exactly what to do –

smash the brick into numerous pieces

and pass them round one piece for each

to put in the mouth and suck –

earthy, sweetish or salty, smooth or deliciously rough –

fitting end to the meal you've graced –

we're no longer slaves to loss

now that you're in us

we and you are so to speak one

and real or imagined this oneness

is palpable in remembrance   

*Bashirul Haq (1942-2020), architect, planner, teacher.

Kaiser Haq is a poet, translator, essayist, critic, academic and freedom fighter. He is also Professor, Dept. of English & Humanities, ULAB.