What’s in a name?

What’s in a name, anyway?
We will always go back to Shakespeare
What’s in a name?
What are these words?
What are these jails, these oppressors?
These traps, these austerities
These squares pretending to be spheres
These inaccurate models
These unfinished approximations
These scratches, these scribbles
These tasteless placebos

Sun
What is this sun?
What is this winter sun?
What is this winter sun coming through my window?
What is this winter sun coming through my window on a lazy Sunday morning while I sip my coffee and smell the scent of the wet earth after the rain as the fresh gentle wind carries it inside making me feel comfortably cold and warm at the same time that I feel in my face this winter sun?

One word is not enough
Fifty-eight words are not enough
One language is not enough
Five languages are not enough
Sol sole soleil sun Sonne

How can I tell you?
How can I write this down?
How can I explain this feeling?
This experience of mine
It is so fragile and ephemeral
It is so now
And then it is before

What’s in a name?
Why we even bother?
How can I name this?
A sound would be better
But the sun doesn’t make any sound
And if it did it would sound different to you and me
So for me it would sound like the sun
But for you it would sound like an apple
Like a green apple
Like a green apple with a worm inside
What’s in a name?