My Mountain Links in Deltaic Soil

I carried dahlias from the Persian garden
of the Ispahani ghetto in Dhaka,
and placed them on my grandmother's grave.

As I stood in mute memory
of childhood and a troubled youth,
silent tears rolled down on Shia ground
where my Anglo-Saxon past lies buried.

I knew then,
there would be no resurrection,
that my mountain links
and all our turbulent days
lay deep in Deltaic soil,
beside my grandmother,
and that you had gone, like her,
away to another country.