By Lalnunsanga Ralte

My name is not enough
So I’ll have to suffer
”Whose son are you?”
In hopes that I drop
the name of some officer
or politician or businessman
A name that they have heard
Probably blackened with envy
In small meaningless conversations
Over tea and theology
So when I utter a name unrecognized
They hesitate
Desperate to associate it
With one they wish they knew better
And when they fail
”What does she do?”
A humble seamstress
From whom I inherit
Only a debt of love
They turn away,
And wonder if I will stay long
My name is not enough.

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