Your Name

Your name, Beloved:
Air blanketing fragrant space,
Soil firming the stance—

Shakespeare said “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet.”

He isn’t wrong. Yet he isn’t always right.

I call a name when rain is sweetly pouring down, call another name when day is scorching too bright and hot….

Why is it easier to call your name than my own? Is your name so strongly rooted that only it I can remember when it rains? Is it your name or is it you that stays with me?

Oh you….

Oh your name….


is the flying butterfly not anymore the caterpillar greedily eating before sleeping? am I still the un-named baby born by my mother? 💗