But like all great empires, this too fell,
Yet still I will cherish the day
When so serene was my soul,
That I sat and stared
Over fields and trees,
Thinking that how, shrouded only
By a minute veil of muted white,
The half-open golden eye
Looked like beauty itself.
Ozymandius, his head was found,
Buried in the sand,
This is now the grave
My soul posesses,
Leaving me to walk the ruins of this adoration imperious,
With only a void to remind me of you.
Cover image. © Penguin Books. I stumbled across Nuruddin Farah’s novels when searching for something written by a Somali author. Perhaps due to the conflict that has raged for years in Somalia, it is very difficult to find much from Somali writers published in English. From a Crooked Rib was published in 1970 and tells the story of Ebla, a young, orphaned, illiterate nomadic girl, who runs away from her encampment. She takes the decision to leave upon learning of her Grandfather’s intention to marry her off to an older man within their Jes (a group of families living in an encampment together). She firstly escapes to a town, Belet Amin, where she finds her cousin and his pregnant wife. She also finds a guide and confidante in a character known only as the widow. Things seem settled until, yet again, Ebla finds her freedom compromised by a male character – this time her cousin, whose wife and child Ebla has been nursing. In her haste she leaves Belet Amin with the w