In artistic pursuits, he might indulge,
But to excel , he makes the weakest budge.
Leaving everything half baked and rushed,
But leaving nothing untouched.
He might not top the race
Lest no sweat will he waste.
He wont scurry past as the last number,
With fluke he is rendered to pass,
This jack of all trades,
Mastered the average.
Mediocrity became accepted,
as a state of being not too good, yet good.
And there came many hills, in his way
Conquering without fear,
With every climb, tumbled on a stone
That was labeled – average.
Copyright © Madhavi Krishnan | Year Posted 2018
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