I came back from the bridge bathed in tears,
Ugly with the torments over all these years.
Verses fluttered on my lips like a solitary dove,
Only to drown the broken bones into a fresh, dangerous love.
Wallowing in the aura of his wintry gaze,
Never knew what magic put my soul to such a daze.
Does he read me? For I'm afraid,
Of the age old prophecies bards have made.
Crippled in the succour of his treacherous spell,
There, tolls my doomsday bell.
Most people that I have met in life have found my name intriguing, enigmatic or colloquially what you call a 'jaw-breaker'. Therefore, much to my dissent, my name got conveniently shortened to 'Shreya' or 'Shrey'. It irked me majorly because 'Shreya' is also a different name within the Bengali culture. It felt like an imposition of a person or personality that I were not. Over a period of time overstimulation forced me to accept the fait accompli until, a friend started using the word 'Shree' to address me affectionately. Intuitively, effortlessly and organically I felt like my personality fell in perfect symphony with being called 'Shree', so much so that, subconsciously, I also had started to address myself as 'Shree' soon afterwards. Needless to say, the shift in cultural paradigm as I immigrated from India to USA was vast and diverse. Surprisingly however, it made me cling on desperately to the vestiges of my roots and identi...
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