Poetry

Not your spice girl

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I am more than spices, mango in the summer, cinnamon in the winter, cardamom to feel good, cloves for a cold

There is so much more to my heritage than magic ingredients

More than the saffron, the cumin, turmeric that would stain my fingers if only I were a woman who was at home in the kitchen

My humanity runs far deeper than spices and chai 

I’m a product of a prisoner of war

Parents who slept in ditches as bombs rained from the sky

We entertain our co-workers in the pubs one night and place our heads on the prayer mat the next 

We abbreviate our names for the sake of others

Split identity depending on the place

We bend, adapt, we know how to survive

From Lahore to London we became resilience personified

We are more than our commodities

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