Poem Of Family

Poem of a family

Just when I had 

Learnt to talk

Papa bought me

A slate and chalk.

Mother held 

My hand tight 

And taught me 

How to write. 

I made shapes 

And carved letters after that

Amazed at how beautifully 

White covered the black. 

Papa then bought the paper and a pencil. 

Scale, sharpeners and erasers 

Were then bought by him. 

But taught by Mumma,

To me who was like a stencil. 

I learnt slowly 

Mistakes were to be made 

But my Mumma and papa 

Were always there to erase. 

I fought with my brother 

For the stationary we got 

There was not a single pencil 

Over which we had not fought. 

Passed the time, and my pencils 

Were getting shorter. 

Then my papa bought me a pen, 

Thus the clay finally found its potter. 

First-year was havoc,

Ink spilt all over the page 

That was the time when the writer inside me 

Struggled to get out of its cage. 

Brother had already held 

The pen in his hand firmly 

That's when my parents 

Held our backs humbly.

Somewhere in between, 

I started writing too. 

Songs for my Mumma, 

And rhymes for you. 

Some pages are black,

Some as colourful as their smile

Some pages are torn, 

Some folded in a vile. 

Some have spilt tea on 'em. 

(Un)intentionally by my granny 

Maybe she helped me right better somehow

But the pages she tore are just way too many. 

All these years I have learnt 

My life is an empty book given by parents

Which has to be filled by me. 

There is a small collection of beautiful poems somewhere in between 

And I titled it THE POEM OF A FAMILY.