Your moist eyes simply blink
at the emerald stretch,
as my culpable ones
diffidently shift.

Your chiseled smile exudes
shrouded consternation.
My face – tinted crimson –,
bury in my palms.

Your hand – black, blue and red –,
holds my unblemished one.
The other ready to
catch my secret tears.

Your nobleness seems to
scoff at my cowardice.
Your frayed clothes ridicule
my ragged being.

Piercing my ears
is the booming silence,
which blares out chapters of
your courteousness.

A thousand times over,
I wished being your vestige.
And a thousand times more,
I wished you were dead.
---

(In reference to The Kite Runner.)

Neethi (10 Aug 1990)

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/brother-32/