What could one write about Emma?
Emma is a woman – beautiful and fine,
A rare kind, bewitchingly divine
It’s difficult not to fall in love with her
Despite your opposing vehement efforts, that is bound to occur,
Nothing about her can be deemed ordinary
Except her name,
Which is inflicted on her like a cruel ironical game
But rumour has it –
She loves her heartbreakingly common nomenclature
Drawn as her parody, a mocking caricature
How could she accept such kind of cruelty?
After all, doesn’t she deserve to be called something that matches her personality?
But if you tell her that –
“I am proud of what I am called!” she would say.
“How could you be?” You might enquire.
She’d flush with pride – “It’s the name that inspires.”
Maybe she isn’t aware of her own rarity.
You might deduce that her perception definitely needs some clarity.
“But, it’s fine, really.” she would reply to your every buts –
“What do you want me to be called?
A word from a rarest language altogether?
But you know, it’s not the rarest of rare that’s frequently recalled,
It’s always the cliché that remains at the tip of your tongue by default.
So, don’t you get it? Don’t you get it yet?
Emma is perfect!”
Robbing you of words, that’s how she’d leave nothing for you to say,
And then she’d proudly add “Emma is an extraordinary cliché.”