Nonsense!

I goo boo away incoherently

To the rest of the world

It s mere gibberish

My mom finds a

Tiny SuKi in me

A word, a step, a smile

And a nod

All signs of a child prodigy

For my mom.

I raise my hand at arithmetic

To ask if three and four

And six and two are the same

My teacher looks at me

From behind her blinkers

To see if I m still sane

My mom sees a math genius in me

I  dab a red and paint a blue on the corridors

My mom finds it modern and quite like Picaso

I grow up and decide

That I shall advocate right and wrong

The world looks at me and asks

What is wrong with you?

A few friends even give me a second look

But many even refuse to take one.

My mom only says,

"Go on and you will be alright."

Today I m neither advocate nor Picaso.

My world is full of précis and recipes

Punctuated by verbs and frosting.

I told the world what I love

The world did what it is only good at.

What nonsense! It exclaimed.

My mom quietly said,

"Of course! It makes perfect sense."

I wish to get my story published in Chicken Soup for the Indian Entrepreneurs Soul in association with BlogAdda.com This poem is an effort.