Clumsy

By Abhijeet Madhusudan Ghule

They all told me always, what I “Should” do and what I should not.

Being a child I learnt some of it, focused more on the toys they bought.

Not expert in the art of mischief, every time, in action, I was caught.

They told me after scolding, about things, doing which, I must stop.

When guests came to our home and watched me running in a frenzy.

My parents covered everything, saying, “Our child is a little clumsy.”

She gave me less marks, for some mistakes in my examination.

My teacher said, my handwriting’s no less than an abomination.

Don’t know why in schools, good handwriting is always a stipulation.

Brutally, but she advised, “You “Could” practice more, with dedication.”

Her shouting made me afraid, and my parents thought I was lazy.

In the end, she told my parents, that I was very clumsy.

Days passed I left the school, in the college I felt like a hostage.

Somehow in that cage there, with a girl, I had bonded.

Sweet she was indeed, but a like a deep cut under the bandage.

Out of compulsion, without a choice, I carried the undesired baggage.

When I shared my desires, what I “Would” do, if I become someone classy.

Rolling her eyes, she said, “Its fool’s paradise. Stop being so clumsy.”

Education was over and I started life, chasing my own dreams.

Said everyone you’re wrong, your life is done with, so it seems.

Ignoring all, I made my path and saw my destiny within my reach.

I proved them, those destined to fly, don’t like walking on their feet.

The responsibilities I had, for me, my clumsiness made it fun.

Respectfully I said, everything’s taken care of. It’s already “Done”.

By Abhijeet Madhusudan Ghule