I am not my brother’s conscience keeper
He keeps it safely, hidden from my eyes
And at all times, from his own live eyes.
His eyes are live with plastic conscience,
Made of plastic , 20 microns and above,
Safe limit for bacteria to degrade bodies.
Resolution’s native hue is not sicklied o’er
With pale conscience and highly anemic,
In a shortage of body iron lost in periods.
A moon has lost conscience over his roof
And has turned pale in the aftermath sky
Having lost body iron in lunar monthlies.
A conscience is dead but I am not keeper.
Yet I do my filial duties towards my dead,
Bury it deep ,so as not to be native ghost.
(Reference is to the Greek tragedy Antigone by Sophocles)