Susie Gharib is a graduate of the University of Strathclyde with a Ph.D. on the work of D.H. Lawrence. Her poetry and fiction have appeared in multiple venues including Adelaide Literary Magazine, The Curlew, The Ink Pantry, A New Ulster, Down in the Dirt, the PLJ, and Mad Swirl.
I saw in the far horizon the emblem of infinity, the symbol I studied at school, a prospect of possibilities, a sheet of endless blue for navigators who sought eternity. But further learning had brought a halt to an elusive fallacy for beyond the horizon were ports of cities that teemed with tragedies, where strife, deprivation and wars continued to churn societies, envisaging before my eyes the rubble of humanity.
This beauty that I behold in a moment of serenity, which I snatch from a day that coils upon its own banalities, is the only sustenance that buoys a self besieged with calamities. My eyes that view the port are born with a collective memory that conjures each scene of yore where boats and ships and galleys reposed upon those shores, commencing their cultural discourse. I sniff the ancient lore that has lingered for centuries, emanating from certain corners that have not been ravished by modernity and wonder with a silent reproof at a flagrant disregard for fragrant history.
What’s in a Name
What’s in a name? I once heard in a dramatization on the BBC of some play I failed to trace but whose characters sound like the inmates of a mental institute for the insane. I have pondered over that question for years and wondered whether there are genetic traits inherent in a name. Mine is Hebrew for Lilium, connoting a virtuous woman who was accused falsely but defended her fame. When I look back upon my life, now I am in my late fifties, I perceive a lot of parallels with that ancient female, for I have emerged from a persistent, slanderous campaign, all whole, intact and without a taint.