Johnny Johnny ! Yes Papa !
Sounds like a familiar rhyme,
Ever wondered what it felt like,
When by this you are addressed everytime.
The name I had, guess ably,
Didn’t exactly belong to me.
Johnny was my dad’s identity,
Who wanted me to be his carbon copy.
The respectful son in me, inducted,
Similarity, in almost every respect of my life.
Similar appearance, same profession,
But definitely not the same wife.
Y-E-S were the initials of my mentor,
Who taught me to be on my own feet.
Totally independent, though wasn’t I, as,
In the congress of my name, YES occupied an important seat.
The last word of my ‘phrasey’ name,
Was necessarily an identity of my clan.
Papasrothospoulous, as it was, I was able to exclude,
But, being heard with my name, its shorter version, I just couldn’t ban.
The most interesting aspect of my name,
Unexpectedly, is the presence of two exclamation marks,
As they rightly deciphered the expression of its listeners,
Followed by their lips splitting up, and forming semicircular arcs.
Throughout my life, my name burdened me,
In my sleep, and even when I went to pee.
But, recently, in heaven, it so happened,
An American nicked me, JJ Yippee!!!
The story of me writing on this topic goes like this.....There was a creative writing event in my hall. Now the person conducting this event, Uday Aghamarshan, gave this crazy clause, that there should be poem starting with the phrase "Johnny Johnny! Yes Papa!". His desire to read an absurd wirte-up must have been fulfilled by this one, by a fellow Manchester United fan, in which I recite the story of a person who has this entire phrase as his name.....
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