He keeps aloof, away from us
He sits afar, like he’s much better
Like he’s too good for our company,
Sinners with the scarlet letter.

When we step out, people take note
Not of me, no! Of him instead
Am more popular and better-clad,
‘His face does glow,’ I think in dread.

My mum likes him, she likes rarely
‘He’s special,’ she says, with a small smile
He’s not handsome, tall, or charming
I bet his humility is mere guile

No man’s perfect, so he can’t be
Hard as I look, there’s naught to see
He says he’s Muslim, but I am too
Yet everyone likes him and not me.

I stand with friends and view in ire
At how his spotless garment shines
I look at myself and my friends
At our soiled clothes and hands of grime

Right then, it hit! It hit me hard!
Envy for whom I call my ‘friend’
I wish he wouldn’t seem flawless
And had a vice, needed amend.

A petulant thought; Yes, I know
But hatch a plan amongst us eight
We stroll to meet him; hugs and smiles
With filthy hands, smear him with hate.


‘Our plan did work!’ I think in glee
Returned home pretty pleased today
‘He’s just like us! He’s now like us!’
I feel better, play better, eat okay.

When night rolls in, I lay in thought
Thinking of a good friend of mine
‘Will the stains clear? Will he recover?’
While my shirt lies, covered in grime.

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