Intemperate old bastard, when will you learn that life isn’t about Aristotelian lectures you claim cannot be read, or Platonic spelunking into absolute realms of absolute forms?
You borrow my lines and deceitfully craft a cento, making it seem like I’m on par with Eliot and the greats, but it’s that I dream more than you ever farmed that irritates, infuriates and grates you.
Self-indulgent old bastard, you mask your jealousy with a Bauta of utilitarianism and try flaunting esoteric wisdom, donning it like a parka – a defense mechanism to tame this young lion. When will you learn? Oh, when will you learn that you’ll never subdue me?
Forty years spent in a rectory wearing a chastity belt, and now you’ll fuck anything at your age, you say. Who asked you to make the choice of not chasing the locomotives, smoking marijuana and living with desire shaping will?
Cryptic old bastard, when will you learn? You thought that obeying God and adhering to some legalistic Papal code is faith and flagellated yourself and literally mortified your flesh. Now look, like Luther shook his head, you do – only it’s too late because of heart conditions and pills for heart conditions.
Life is a simple prayer from the heart because God detests the litany like Charles Spurgeon put it (only differently). Your penance and tithes mean nothing and perhaps you’ll learn at last you arrogant old-bastard that prayers involve kindness, compassion and helping others get a hold of their lives unlike your selfish partner and you who live just for yourselves.
© Nitin Lalit Murali (2018)