The flower Cynara is such a powerful symbol.
I wonder if i could call my daughter that. Though it's such an unusual name for an Arab.
Ferocious yet mellow. Poised, yet stings when the need arises.
A fighter, a dazzling survivor in the desert that could still blossom in a blizzard.
It may not be pretty on the common scale of looks, but it is attractive for all the right reasons.
Or maybe I just like purple flowers way too much.
But who doesn't ?
Future daughter, if you stumble upon this one day; all grown up and curious about your mother's adventures on the cyber space, and If you ever wondered at your strange name (peculiar is the word) kindly read Ernest Dowson's poem Non Sum Qualis Eram Bonae Sub Regno Cynarae. Then listen to Somewhere in Mediterrania (you'll prolly find it on my phone).
That's your song. And a fine, eloquent gentleman (though dead) has written a whole poem, just for you.
I'm writing this as a single working lady part time student with aspirations and dreams. I prolly haven't met your dad yet (or have I?). I hope he's cool. And handsome. And I hope that you love yourself, the way I love you already, Cynara.
I just want you to know that, despite all; I've been faithful to thee, in my own fashion.
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