There is nothing
More pleasurable
More saddening
Than listening to
Tales of betrayal
I have collected till now
Seventeen thousand three hundred and forty tales
Today a female friend
Narrated to me
a tale of her husband’s infidelity
The seventeen thousand three hundred and forty first tale
She told me of
How he sowed
Another woman’s invisible existence
All over her house
Of how that woman
Was so irresistible
She told me of
How seductive the words the woman employs
Would be
Of how the woman
Would take in with a smile
Any amount of animosity thrown at her
She told me about
The long hair
The woman carried
Of how anyone would
Fall for the innocence of her eyes
That the woman was
Her children’s dance teacher
My friend had nothing to say
of the husband
who had cheated on her
with the woman
He lay like a dead rat
in her tale
She kept on talking about
The woman
The woman had filled up her whole heart
I was stumbling about to
Hide from my friend that
At some turn of the tale
I had begun loving the woman
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