Black

Black was a thief Who stole anything Between pots and clothes. Son of a pundit, He became a thief and Humiliated the Brahmins. I didn't want to be a thief, But we were friends, Black and I. All hated him, But he surprised me With his other colors. We fell in love With the same woman, Who loved him over me. I spat venom When Black walked passed me With her in his arms, Wearing my shirt I couldn't find the other day Sometime between noon and dusk. Sad and defeated, With vengeance nibbling on my heart, I returned home late. I found my shirt on the bed, With a note from Black: 'Sorry! I'd to look clean for her.' On a frozen January morning, They found his body Hanging from a tree. 'Now he has paid for her', Said those who hated him, but I heard Her tears saying, 'they killed him!' I forgave him for the shirt and His love for her, And I still keep the shirt clean.