Prologue: This week, I've been reading Cratylus by Plato in one of my classes; I'll be honest though, I haven't finished reading it like I was supposed so please don't let my philosophy professor see this. For those of you who aren't familiar with one of Plato's most dense and difficult to follow dialogues, it could be summed up by a single question: What's in a name, and who decides what a name means? While the dialogue itself is more didactic and philosophical in nature, I found the main point was to realize that names are tools of knowledge and hold a lot of power. They mean more than just a label or title . With that being said, here is "name", a free-verse poem.

The harsh glare of maternity ward lights.

The odor of ammonia, the disinfectant of choice.

Chilled air, circulated through spotless vents.

Clean, in theory.

But in reality, stained.

Tainted with the echoes of sustained screams,

Muffled groans and whimpers,

A faint metallic bottom note of blood.

A drowsy aura

Hovered above the dull sickly,

Who paced the corridors

Searching for vibrancy.

Beyond it all, something new.

The energy, pierced with surges of muscle spasms.

The atmosphere, engulfed with the limerence for new life,

Fresh souls entering into existence.

In one room, lies a pale Lady in wait,

Anticipating the arrival of a well-known stranger.

The two have been in conversation for quite a while.

280 days, or 40 weeks, to be exact.

They've bonded well, connections formed over oddities.

Occasional kickboxing matches against a flesh cavern,

Set the urgent tone of the stranger's desire

To finally emerge.

And while the Lady lay in wait for nine moons,

She developed an agenda, to bring the bundle comfort.

A home, built in the smallest room of her house.

Furnished to the max, with plush animals galore.

She pondered over the future with the Beloved,

Pictured all of the feats this Cherub would accomplish.

But never once did she have to worry

That her Angel would face a complete and utter lack of respect.

Yet 9,106 miles away in Madurai,

Her caramel doppelgänger lay in an detached state.

Forbidden from attaching herself

To the one thing that consumed her every cell.

The Dravidian could not prepare for the newcomer,

No clothes, no toys, no potential moniker.

There was to be no excitement, but only fear.

For to hope was to create inevitable tears.

So the Lady acknowledged this,

Grateful for her luxury

In being able to plan

Who her new Angel would be.

Perhaps a classic,

Or maybe a newfangled title.

She would choose wisely,

From the clichéd books or her family tree.

When the moment came,

The Lady heard the missing part of her soul sing,

Emitting cries that couldn't be soothed,

Until mother and child were chest to chest.

Unlike her pale double, the beige Rani was left in the dark,

Left to await until the hours of pain

That preceded the gain of a new heir,

A new leader to rule the family.

And no one said, but she knew they wanted a king

Not a queen, not a weakling.

She would be unworthy if she couldn't produce,

So she followed superstitions and withstood the abuse.

Different from the Lady, the Rani felt alone.

Not a mother, but a host

For a growing child.

Nothing more.

And when her moment came,

Her hopes fell flat,

Sad to see a mocha-colored girl wriggling in gloved arms,

A white coat, announcing the Rani's failure.

She quivered in fear of a crazed family member,

Enraged, seeking the babe's poison-based execution.

But she knew that maybe this Doll could break

The heavy glass ceiling that caused her own back to ache.

The name she chose was one of strength,

Wealth and prosperity.

The name she chose rolled off her own tongue,

But to others, it would not be one.

To others that the tan Princess would grow to know,

The name would be a topic of shame.

It would be something she dodged,

If initially unwelcome or "hard".

The brown girl would nod her head

To any pronunciation,

In hopes that she wouldn't have to bear

With the replied exasperation.

Nicknames would be tolerated,

Regardless of status.

And her last name,

Hmm, why bother even having it?

No one knew that her name was hers.

They believed it was a show,

And a mere attempt at fame.

But hers was a once-in-a-lifetime name.

So why make the effort to learn one's title,

Regardless of origin or pronunciation?

It comes down to a simple human concept.

Respect.