Well, if you’re really into unrequited love (Part 3, The end)

So you’ve gone ahead and done it my angel of rapturous delight! You have married a man with no taste, no elegance and no divine passion: an ardor unmitigated that only I who licked the flames of purgatory, while I longed for that beautiful union of our souls, that only I who licked the dust of the floor like a mongrel hungry for the absolute perfection that is you, that only I who suffered sleepless nights, bed-wetting and waking up in the agony of my own discharge, my clothes stinking, my integrity castrated could have given you. But you still prostituted yourself to a hedonistic bridegroom with elephantine gonads and a serpent that stings with white venom. Oh, my precious! Oh, my beloved! How could you possibly make your caravanserai a whorehouse! Oh, my sweet delight! My bones show, but there is doubt that sinks in. Were you really the goddess of muses or just a Lorelei: a harlot in disguise? Yes, though my heart is pierced with a three-pronged spear, and I never doubted your sublime divinity that transcends the boundaries of space and time, I do now. Oh did I spend all these years, in the stench of my excrement, rolling in penance, seeking your enlightenment, only to realize that you’re a Cleopatra: a woman of unmitigated lust, and an insatiable hunger for white blood! Perhaps you never wanted the crimson I’d have given you each time I trailed, when you walked with him to movie theaters, and sat in the back row with tears as he planted kisses and coarse bites on your neck. Perhaps you never longed for the tour de force I’d have written you, or the Oval Portrait I’d have painted while you sat in an alluring white gown, your seraphic beauty engulfing my soul. Perhaps you were a raven who now pecks at a worm, and that disgusts me. I have renounced you! I tried my last when I interrupted your wedding and screamed, “No!” But you had the security guards drag me without concern for my splintered heart. They treated me like a vagabond and threw me on the streets, when I came with love, while his shaft bulged out of his pants, and you walked down the aisle in a skimpy costume. Oh! How could you have degraded yourself so much! The truth is never ‘kinky’ or whatever they call it in this semen-ridden world. But I will rise, because for each Helen of Troy there is an antithesis: A beautiful woman of innocence with rosy cheeks and lips elegant, and a soul that touches the stars, and I will find her, and even if she asks me to emasculate myself for her, I will.

The end.

P.S. You’ll find part one here:


And part two here:


© Nitin Lalit Murali (2018)

Protected by Copyscape

33 responses

    • And forgive me for this trite message on repeat. A blogger rightly criticised me for it. The problem is that I run out of cool things to say after I write. So I’ll try to engage in conversation. Lemme see. How was your day? Trust me, as you answer my mundane questions, the conversation should hopefully grow more interesting!

      • My day was good. The weather was lovely. I hope you had a beautiful day. Your poetry/prose / narrative is spell binding. I enjoyed your “unrequited “ series very much. 🌸

      • My day was lousy. I had to stand in the counter of a supermarket for hours and missed the opportunity to talk to a pretty girl because their system didn’t work. The weather in my city is flat out unpredictable. I still have not deciphered smileys. I plan on writing a nihilist’s guide to them once I’m done with Camus and Satre! Maybe you can help out. What’s the difference between a red and a purple heart? And thank you and yeah, I plan on writing more prose. Perhaps I should write a tragic ‘requited’ series next!

      • Sorry about the day. Smileys are meant to confuse us, break down our resistance. Hearts…same thing. And these poets who want us to pour our guts out, spill them all over like they do. I laugh on them. I only spill my guts in chat. :)

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