Failure: Poem by Ohikhuare Isuku

How frequently failure
had nestled in my loft,
breathing dust which
suffocates my eyes.

How its fiery-darting flames
dance against the secret walls
of my hearts, leading me
gently into the vale of anguish,
but do I dare refrain from dreaming?

I fail more than I succeed,
but these failures
are concealed inward
as huge waste of depression.

They burn the heart,
they consume the soul,
suck off the joy which moists
our countenances,
but still, we forswear not
the cradle of our dreams.

I'll fail again;
I'll fail a million times
before my evening comes,
because for just a success,
there have to be many failures:
many attempts at dreaming.