What's in a name

Who am I ? I asked wildly of them.

They told me my name.

I understand now.
Then, I thought...such things of them.
Now, I understand.

I am known as many things,
Most of which I did not choose
I call myself one thing.
My name.
I did not choose that either.
But I grew to fit it.
Or did it grow to fit me ?

It was there before I was anything.
It assumed my character,
Came to mean what I was.
A mixture of all it was before me,
and me.

It is mine
More than anything else will ever be.

I came into this life
Instead of the expectation of a baby
There was the expectation
Of someone of my name.
I filled that place.

I did not choose it,
But it will be used
To remember me.
Sacred to the Memory-
Of my name.
Of what I gave it.


They say the things people do give their names a character of their own. Noone wants their child to be called Hitler, and few even venture an Adolf on their child. That is how powerful it can be. First, names help mould what we are, then they represent what we are, and then they stand for what we were or have been. This is the reality of names.

And I doubt one would even venture a sniff at a rose named, say, Rafflesia.