Memoona Zahid

---

---

Harrods

The opulence of the chocolate rooms first manifested
In her dreams, her head laying with the stillness of
A clementine, hair flattened against
Her neck. She has never known a language beyond
Bath bomb and scented candle –
At ten years old who is she to know that the smell
Of a civil war permeates the air of Pakistan, our
Country: how the boys who went to school
Did not come back, how their uniforms were the green
Of the Harrods sign, their eyes the colour
Of dusted floor in a yellow sky, metallic.
But our lives are like this: the warmth
Of her palm rests in my palm. We glide our hands across
The glass cases which moon with the glint of expensive
Jewellery and diamonds which pool in the reflection
Of the mirrored ceiling. It is a treat to even look
At the individually wrapped chocolates, embedded
In silver foil. My sister borrowed a yacht, glazed into
English with the flair of a flower floating on water
Whereas I have stumbled, Urdu synapsed from my
Three-year-old mind, relentless in the way I will
Say nazar na lagay when I compliment my friends
In the winter – snowflakes fallen onto eyelashes,
Uneasy about an evil eye which has followed
My mother and my father and now, me, too.

---

---

---

---

MEMOONA ZAHID is a British Pakistani poet who graduated from Goldsmiths university with a BA in English and Creative Writing. Her work has previously been published in GoldDust and Ink, Sweat & Tears.