a gift is a ZINGY thing!

Day Twenty-nine at NaPoWriMo. The prompt for the day is to write a poem in which you muse on the gifts you received at birth — whether they are actual presents, like a teddy bear, or talents – like a good singing voice – or circumstances – like a kind older brother, as well as a “curse” you’ve lived with (your grandmother’s insistence on giving you a new and completely creepy porcelain doll for every birthday, a bad singing voice, etc.).

Gifts have been aplenty. A few jinxed up too. But isn’t that what life is all about? I put some of them together here. Hope you enjoy reading. (Baba refers to my grandfather; Amma is for my grandmother- both smiling at me from the heavens above).

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The name came first. An overbearing matriarch stripped my parents of their right. My cheeks flush when they ask me what it means.
‘Beautiful’.

A baby cot, I remember not. But a fogging memory of dozing off in Baba’s arms clutches at the air.
Love was a gift wrapped in an embrace.

Sweety came next, my fluffy little friend. Peanut lover, Amma’s pet. Why must love play havoc with names?
‘Sooty’, Amma always said.

Then there were the genes. Feet tapping to music and yes, a view from five feet no inches along with a list of remedial fixes.
Now inherited by my children.

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This post is part of BlogchatterA2Z.

16 thoughts on “a gift is a ZINGY thing!”

  1. Anagha Yatin

    Congratulations Sonia for successfully completing A2Z challenge. And I wish you all the best for NaPoWriMo.
    Loved the way you have softly created the loving images of your grand parents in this poem today.
    I have loved all your poems, the thoughts behind them and always have marveled about their beauty. You are an incredibly talented poetess with a fine taste of life. .May your quill keep on enthralling us with fine creations, always.

  2. Why must love play havoc with names…indeed, my biji used to massacre my name, her punjabi dialect calling me all variations rather than my actually name.

  3. Damyanti Biswas

    “A baby cot, I remember not. But a fogging memory of dozing off in Baba’s arms clutches at the air.
    Love was a gift wrapped in an embrace.” Beautiful words 🙂

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