So how does failure talk to you?

It creeps up my window sill as I sit there watching the highway cars go by – clinging on to the grill, sipping Bacardi out of my pink glass and smoking my BnH. It sits there quietly waiting for me to exhaust those tears that roll down incessantly. It never offers words for solace or even a wet tissue for the mess my running nose creates. I look in disgust at its apathy, then look away to turn the volume of the music on – I try to make it feel unwanted under the garb of Pink Floyd. Time passes, my smokes are over. I think of going down to get a packet when David Gilmour hums:

So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell,
blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?”

My limbs refuse to move when I contemplate that why couldn’t I tell my illusory dreams apart from reality, why did I think that for a change life would seem to be different after today. Failure looks on, it’s gaze burns my skin, the tears burn my eyes, the excessive smoke after effect burn my throat and I surge at failure – attempt to throw it down my window. It is then that it overpowers me in a strong embrace, strokes my head and speaks to me.

Failure talks to me like my grandmother used to on a windy summery evening when my parents gave me a ‘time out’ for not scoring well in my spell test. It talks to me about my dismissive fears and then just at the age of 5 I thought I knew the placements of “e” and “i” it shows me how still I live in denial.

Failure talks to me like my long lost first love when last time I called him to say that I am ready to change for him still. It strokes my face like he did over the phone explaining that I try too hard for things that are never to be. It shows me how important it is to accept defeat but how difficult for me.

Failure talks to me like my father, calm and composed when I curse myself, neither acceding nor denying and then when there is nothing to speak telling me to try once again to prove my own self wrong.

Failure talks to me like my hated yet most loved friend for like him it too holds up the mirror as I curse fate. It shows me if fate were to decide the course of life, why would opportunities come by? Why would life give a chance for results already pre-determined. It hints that perhaps I am still wrong somewhere and not my fate, for the latter would also grow tired of yielding the same results each time.

Failure talks to me like the guy I think I like for like him it too tells me that I rush into decisions to fast and end up blaming myself. It calms me to make me believe that maybe it’s not time, that maybe there would never be the time, yet I have to wait for the judgment day putting up a brave face with no regrets in heart and no remorse on the face.

Failure talks to me like my sister for like her it too chides me for forgetting and forgiving things too easily, including itself and my own self. It sighs that if perhaps I wasn’t so relenting then I would have won many more battles.

Failure talks to me like my mother who despite so many setbacks still believes that I have the potential and that next time would be different. Just as she talks about my achievements with me lying on her lap till I sleep, failure sitting there hums:

“Footfalls softly in the pines
We cry and cry
We cry and cry
Sadness passes in a while”

And then next morning I see a white pigeon where it had rested its bum throughout the night. Failure talks to me to bring me at peace with my conflicting self.

They say to each his own – So how does failure talk to you?

(True – DON’T READ – TALK)