by Siddiq Islam

I

A bricklayer pleases his wife by inlaying
A pattern of bricks in one wall of her store.
The heavenly mural shows bright songbirds playing
In flowery fields by a soft honey shore.

The King sees this gardenscape paradisaic
And covets the beauteous brickwork mosaic
So calls for five thousand strong men to create
A queue from the store to his grand palace gate.

They ladder the Jannah, his legion of vandals,
And skim off the colourful bricks from the top,
Bequeathing the woman three quarters her shop.
They pluck one brick each and, in sore leather sandals,
Plod back past the queue that traverses the town,
To where each poor footsoldier lays his brick down.

II

The King is a lover of artwork but merely
In order to quench his desire to own.
He longs to acquire, so deathly, so dearly,
All beautiful things within reach of his throne.

The King sees the mural and wants it entire,
But thieves spoil their loot in their rush to acquire.
Five thousand young soldiers commanded to pick
From the top of the beauteous mural a brick,

But they put the bricks down in the order they got them.
They place the bricks neatly in rows by their feet,
Rebuilding the wall bottom-up till complete.
The King drops his jaw when he sees what they’ve got him,
He loses his head and he fumbles his crown,
The pretty mosaic rebuilt upside down.