Maroshini Krishna, Grade 9, Saint Martin
A stranger at first, it bites. My name is a thorn, defying all who come close,
A black cloud of swirling mist,
Dark, strange and wrong, my name stumbles awkwardly…and falls.
It is the tiresome call of duty, icy wind slapping pale cheeks,
My name is the puzzled looks of those who fail to know Maroshini.
Yet my name softens, bathing in the dark tunnels of voice, laughing the tinkling laughter of silver anklets clicking against bare heels.
Maroshini. Indian spice, scented with the Far East.
Maroshini. A blossoming rose, deep red smiling at the dusty green of its bush.
Maroshini. The waterfalls of Lambir - you either heard the panic of the cascading water, or you saw the calm of the lake below.
My name is a customized bracelet, all my own,
My inner light, ever shining
It sets me apart from the rest of the world,
Maroshini is my name and it simply means me.