Failure is man’s best teacher, I guess

It’s 3AM here and I’m trying hard to sleep.
But deep down inside, I’m beginning to weep.

How could I lose that match when I was so confident of winning?
How could I be so careless when the trophy was about all I was dreaming?

Three years down the lane without any major tournament win,
is pretty hard for a snooker player to easily sport a grin.

This was my chance to be just for all my hard work.
But at the exact moment, not sure why but I didn’t give a fuck.

It reminded me of my earlier times when I had lost.
Thought of quitting right then; I was that distraught.

Something inside me whispered that I’m closer to winning.
I listened to that voice and continued practicing.

A few minor wins and suddenly a major loss.
Believe me, it’s harder than splitting with Kate Moss.

I remember skipping classes and training sessions years ago.
Friends would be coding and I’d be playing from 9 to 4.

They would roam the city and watch movies on cable.
But all I was interested in were the six corners of a snooker table.

I remember Dad shouting on me and friends making fun of me.
Because I was obsessed with the green baize even in the hours of wee.

But I had faith that the hard work would pay one day.
And I’m pretty sure the day hasn’t come, even today.

Failure is man’s best teacher, I guess.
Need to learn to get over it, like putting on a new dress.

There isn’t a need to carry excess baggage in tow.
And I have come a really long way to give up right now.

I wouldn’t care if you still make fun of me and try to poke.
I’ll be happily practicing snooker while YOU’LL be the joke!

                                                                                                    – asrartheone

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