Saturday 11 December 2010

Your Honour, I plead guilty!



Your Honour, I plead guilty, if you so wish
For you glare at me in your horn-rimmed glasses
Dressed in red to welcome scums to halls of justice
Nose twisted heavenwards as if to ward off the stench of my crime.

I plead guilty, Your Honour
For you are impatient with me
You insist in ‘Guilty’ or ‘Not Guilty’
Blind to my ‘let me explain’
Eager to send me to oblivion.

I wanted to explain to you this thing slowly
The way men do
But you insist in barking at me
How will you know how it all started?
Is this the way people handle issues?

Your Honour, I am the wronged man here
I should be the object of your mercy
I can’t afford the price of a lawyer’s tongue
Every time I want to talk my way, you block my path
How can truth be found, Your Honour?
That is why I will say I am guilty.
But if we were in the village
I would call everyone and pass through the thighs of old men
And if I lie I die
Simple.

If I were in the village
I would drink from a calabash to declare my innocence
I would stand facing sunrise and say,
“Kinsmen, if I stole from Lokwarasia
then as the sun rises this morning, let me die with it in the evening”
And if I lie I die
Simple.

But here I will plead guilty.

C) Lorot Salem 2010





Goat Case


We gathered today under a tree
To settle a case of a stolen goat
And what a hard case that was!

The Accused stood in rebellion saying:
Kinsmen, which goat did I steal? Whose goat have I stolen?
Under a tree, today, we listened to this Goat Case all day long
Examination-in-chief, cross-examination
Evidence adduced, presumptions rebutted
Flared up emotions, plea for justice

And so all day long we listened to this Goat Case
Under a tree
Till we reached this verdict:
Both parties will avail themselves the next Market Sunday
Accused will carry a kid, victim will come with the mother-goat
If the kid runs to the mother-goat, the case is settled!

Market Sunday. Kid runs to mother-goat.
Case settled! Accused to pay fourteen goats and kumiket for judges.
Next file please!

C) Lorot Salem 2010

Monday 6 December 2010

Law




If I were to postulate what law is
As Professors are wont
I would posit:
Law is what we think it is
An obfuscation of legal scholars
An enigma.

Why, defined law is everything we think it is
Which precise words can’t wholly describe
It is the minstrel to men
It is the arch-enemy of anarchy
It is what is in the bosoms of men
Not codes and statutes
It is imprinted in the conscience.

Law is not an UFO
Law is not an extra- terrestrial
Law is a citizen recognized by man.

C) Salem Lorot 2010

Monday 29 November 2010

The Judgement


In my chamber I sat to write my Judgement
After a long day in courtroom brawl
Weeks of arguments, defence
Legal tussle, pleadings
Hearing

I sat with Law Reports, Statutes
Handwritten case summary
Reviewing every detail of law
Every principle
Every issue of contention

I sat to write this Judgement
That will stir nationwide controversy
Of a Judge-turned-judicial-activist

I marked all issues in contention
Read my case summary again and again
With the aid of steaming dormans coffee
This Judgment will be due next week
And what an uproar it will evoke!

I will read it to the packed court
Slowly and steadily
Like an epic tale
I will comfort both the plaintiff and defendant
Soothe their conscience
For a while
Then throw them to disarray
With a legal bonnet thrown into the mix
It will hit them like a thunderbolt

I will read this Judgment to them
And set a precedent in uncharted waters
Journalists and commentators will be thrown off-balance
They will postulate the import of my Judgment
And quote biases feigned as principles

I will sleep in the chambers tonight
Till I finish this Judgment
For the Judgment will be out in the next 48 hours.

C) Lorot Salem 2010

Political Speech


This is meant to be a political speech
I have to say this early because it will screech your ears
And tug at your heart..wrench it even
For we have grown apolitical
Traded our voices, our freedom
This speech will capture that dream
That was conceived times past
But is kicked around in non-recognition
This speech is the tablet of the people, the masses
Their commandments to the powers-that-be
That it will not be business as usual
For in every hamlet and slum, every corner and abode
This speech will be carried through
To give a re-birth to that dream
To dramatize the upsurge of the downtrodden

The masses will gather to hear the cause of their suffering
They will boil in their hearts
They will seethe, they will simmer
They will constrict in their throats
They will unite
They will join hands and join the dots
The bits and pieces, the odds and ends
The downtrodden will rise out of their slums
To carry this message, this political speech
And make it their own
They will ignite fire in their marrows
And blaze in their eyes
They will heave with disgust
To hear about this dream they once had
But was snatched away from them
They will envision the lost opportunities
The smokescreen
The bluff
The stooges will quake in their boots
Listening to this speech
For it will not be heard and forgotten
It will plant the seed of another dream
A dream bigger and grand, a dream that will never be stolen
It will shake every corner of slums
It will fire up the masses
It will cause a seismic twist to the powers-that-be
For this speech is a political speech
Written by the blood of the slum-dwellers
Carrying the breath of debased men living in misery
Inked by the lost dreams of youths in garbage mounds
Nursed by the bare-chested mothers with malnourished babies
This political speech is not written actually
Because the illiterate masses will not read them
It is the wind of hope blowing across the slums
It would not be comprehensible
It will not follow any style
It will not bear any introduction
It will not have any conclusion
It will not follow any particular pattern
For this speech is a speech of revolt
Against structures, layouts, formats
It is not pre-defined
It will lump everything together
With no specific order
Yet remain true to its message and intent
This political speech is not actually political
Because it is not empty rhetoric and witchhunt
But it could be political, if you think about it.

C) Lorot Salem 2010

Please Don’t Insult My Profession!


I have pretended to be even with you
Even as you call me “a defender of thieves and murderers”
I have smiled even as you joked that all lawyers will go to hell
Matter of fact, I have been seething, boiling within me

For apart from saying them
You have had to laugh sarcastically and held your sides
As if you had just revealed the most hidden truth to man
But I have been quiet.

Friend, for your sweeping statements
I have shared with them with pain
But had no nerve to counter you
All the while hoping that you will tone it down
But to no avail.

For seven years, friend
I have trawled through legal textbooks
Thumbed finest Judgments from Lord Denning to Madan
Sieved through Journals and articles
For this profession

I have read through Philosophy and Psychology
And various legal systems
Just for this profession

And in all this time, friend
I have captured themes of justice, of fairness,
Of rights known to men, of court structures
Of sentencing, of what underlies defence

For instance, friend, did you know that
I am the mouthpiece of my client but still an officer of court?
Did you know that if a man “kills” as you say,
I would want to aid the court to leave no doubt about the propriety of his actions?
Did you know that if the court finds him at fault I should
Be thanked for leaving no doubt as to my client’s guilt?

But I have chosen to keep quiet
For all this you will never understand—
After all it took me seven years to decipher them
All that I ask is to exercise restraint before firing your salvos

C) Lorot Salem 2010

Orpheus and Eurydice


I will retell the story of Orpheus and Eurydice anew
I will make it real to us
For I don’t like sad twists.

I will not recount about how the serpent bit Eurydice
For that makes me jittery
I will avoid the Underworld, the Lethe
Pluto and Charon and the Styx
It convolutes joy within me

I want to talk about Orpheus, the Harper,
Of how he could sing and charm the Underworld
I want to capture the spirit of his song
That rent the air and warmed up Sisyphus

I want to paint a picture
Of the harper
That sang to the heart
That won Eurydice
How with only a harp he stirred up
The soft emotions of the Underworld
To bring her back to life
That is the story I want to retell.

C) Lorot Salem 2010

Narcissus and Echo




Such is the tragedy of the handsome
immortalized in the story of Narcissus,
the son of a god.

And such too is the tragedy of the not-so-beautiful
Captured by Echo, a nymph.

For both are accursed:
By Hera the Queen of Mt. Olympus
to ricochet in echoes
By the Maiden
To die to be flowers.

For to love is to give
And to be loved is obedience to the realm.

C) Lorot Salem 2010

Midas’ Touch




How would it have felt to King Midas
talking with Dionysus, the god of Vine
to have a gold touch on everything?

how did it feel to lay his palms on anything,
just anything
to turn it to gold, instant wealth?

for a moment, what would have been the joy
of creating wealth with bare hands
with a touch
just a simple touch?

but such is the folly of the touch
King Midas surmised
with a touch, everything is turned to gold
trees still and unmoving
handshakes solid and brittle
food turned to gold

though precious, mortals,
gold can’t give us warmth
for therein lies the irony of the Midas touch

C) Lorot Salem 2010

Memoirs of a Lazy Academic



I carry my satchel around
A gift from a Conference I attended in Witswatersrand
I have the academic gait, the slight bent of a contemplative philosopher
In my satchel I carry the Oxford Law Dictionary, Legal Articles and Journals
Newspaper Cuttings from Law Reports, torn pieces of my random law thoughts

You see, an academic I am
A legal scholar
I have mastered APA, MLA, Turabian
I can tell a thesis from an abstract
I can tell works cited from reference list
I have read the finest legal texts legal eyes could read
I have pored through seminal rulings and judgments
I have torn through labyrinth of legal texts in search of law
I am the best gift to the scholar’s world
Something of a published legal scholar acclaimed

Let’s say I am not published
Just yet
But I am publishable

My problem is that those research textbooks have caught mould
And have this smell of a treated biological specimen
Every time I open them to read through legal lines
My nostrils prick and are choked

I have no issue with going electronic
After all the world has gone digital
Save for my eyes
I read a few lines but my eyes get teary, bleary
All online content get blurred

So I prefer to walk around with my satchel
Protruding my stubble of scholarly beard
Quoting John Locke and J.J. Rousseau and legal maxims
Tracing law to England and Rome
Regurgitating old notes of my dead professor
And serving them as if they are fresh legal gems of yesterday
I critique judgments even when I have not read them
I postulate how I can write to journals
After all I am the modern day academic
Yet to be published.

C) Lorot Salem 2010

Sunday 28 November 2010

E-blows



I am a tall, lanky fellow
With no much strength
Of a seasoned boxer

So why dare me to a physical fight?
Why are you raising your fist, brother
Challenging me to a bout
When you know I am not a fighter?
Why are you rolling up your sleeves
And charging like an incensed bull
From Ikolomani?

Don’t challenge me to a physical fight, brother
Invite me to an E-fight, E-blows, E-boxing
There I will sit and pontificate arguments
Throw e-blows to you in calculated diction
Use every word of English to whip you up with reason
Pen the most scathing diatribe to irritate your spleen
Throw in sarcasm in quick succession
Mock you with voice of reason
Show you that we invented this game

So keep away your fist brother,
Breath easy, unroll your sleeves
I am of small frame
Against your thick build
But I will fight you with words
Not with sword.

C) Lorot Salem 2010

Monday 22 November 2010

Fare Thee Well O Little Bird



Fare Well, Fare Well, O little bird
Flap your wings with merry
Sing the beautiful melody of your gracious life
As you flee away
Remember the nest and the nestlings
On the canopy
Of the sturdy tree you perched on
Your home
O little bird, O graceful bird
Fly to distant azure skies
Pierce the airy air of newness
But
Dear little bird
Of colourful yellow wings
And smooth even feather
When you are done
Soaring the endless skies
Come back home
On the outstretched arms of the canopy
And conspiratorial welcome of wind’s hum
O dear little bird
Come back home—to roost

C) Lorot Salem 2010

War Song



The drums beat, the guitars scream
The kayambas rustle, the growl
Of the discordant singers
Screech on ears
Of the awed listeners

And the music goes on.
They have heard the butter-soft music
When the soft patter on the drum
Rose to fever pitch until it split dramatically
When the sweet strum of the guitar
Rebelled into a rascal of a jabbering chatterbox
When the hum of singers climbed steadily
And became frothing flowing river of debris
Charging, agitating, wrecking havoc
We the listeners of this dilapidated music
Demand our sanity
You whisked away, roughed up and killed
Leaving us the unproud owners of these jagged skulls
And sunken eyes we are today

C) Lorot Salem 2010

Search of Identity



Don’t pretend: You must’ve heard before
Be proud of your African roots
Cut the western trends
Love your African person…
In music, in dressing, in talking, in values
You’ve heard the booming scream
A scream your ears
Have been waxed off
Your cheers and jeers, sneers and snarls
Have drowned the message
‘we must move with the times’ huh?
“world’s moving, not stationary man’ huh?
And so apart from waxing your ears
Your entire body is striped like zebra’s
Some people said that they are not whipmarks
No! You wanted it that way; you paid for it
Our people have something like that, anyway
After a successful raiding and bloodbath
A ritual, a necessity
Yours looks like a gecko’s on a rough-casted wall!
Hm! The drums, the flute, the adeudeu, the xylophone
‘…are primitive music for the village-folk’, you said
Your manner of talking? In all wisdom Tororot didn’t intend that
For if one can’t breath well and talk distinctly
For if one talks as if he’s being chocked
For if he talks like one about to jump off a cliff
I must say it is not talking, it is stalking my poor ears!

But why should I suffer? Just why?
Everytime I complain I get polite answers:
‘Peace! Loud mouth old fogey!’
Like them, I have waxed my ears too
Against the long unflattering names
Let them pick all flesh and call it decoration
Let them talk with their throats if they like
Let their ears rapture as they capture their captivating choruses
Let them wear their trousers on their knees
As for me
I shall dance to my adeudeu tunes
The music of my soul which shake dullness in my being
I shall talk with the same enthusiasm and steadiness
Will you join me?

C) Lorot Salem 2010

Homeward bound



Perhaps home’s changed
Perhaps it is worse than ever
I can’t bear the maddening thought that
People have like migratory ants fled
Far, far away
To distant lands
I will cup my heart
And cuddle my teary-eyed hope
Yes, I will shake
All traces of foreboding and guilt
I will go home
Whether burnt to ashes
I don’t care
Whether empty and forsaken
Good gracious, I care not
Whether inhabited by wild wiry ghosts
A thousand times, I won’t be trepidated
I will go home
The home of my past and glory
The home of my joys and pleasures
That’s the home I want to go to
To link with my spirits

C) Lorot Salem 2010

No Clothes, No Food



T’was mid afternoon in the blistering sun
My eyes were half-closed, ears cocked for anything
T’is a town you know, anything may happen
Butterflies swirling in my stomach
Something like a whirr like of a distant roar in my mind
Ne’er did I feel like a premonition o’er me
A garbage heap squirming, smirking down yonder
Human traffic criss-crossing
Nothing peculiar, nothing extraordinary
Suddenly my eyes bulged, ears tickled
A thousand butterflies flapped feverishly
The engine-roar was close
E’er me I saw him
On the garbage mound
Greasy
Clammy face
His feet were baked in dirt
Hair locked in thick disheveled knots
He was chewing something
Everytime he swallowed it, he closed his ping-pong-like eyes
The human traffic was unpertubed
It would cast a glance at the man
And fixedly cast forwards
It won’t allow children
Look at the naked ghost:
May cause nightmare to kids
If they lingered a while they were pinched
I shuffled away
But the pleading innocent eyes have followed me here

C) Lorot Salem 2010

The Self-Appointed Rapper


He popped onto your screen
Uninvited
And before your scared fingers
Flicked another channel
You saw his T-shirt –shirt clothes
A big chain strangling his neck
But the voice, my God!
Cracked, noisy, husky
Your one hand cupped your ears
The other one was busy with the remote control
Then you heard it:
Raunchy lyrics, suggestive gestures
The rapper’s hand always rested at the crotch
Your timid eyes perched on your ten-year-old daughter
She was at the edge of her seat, tapping her feet
Savouring every minute of rapper’s theatrics
The boy’s lips were moving along with it
The rapper’s audience
“Dad, I’d like my boobs to be tattooed like those ones!”
“Next time I demand the bling blings!”
“Aren’t those underpants just gorgeous!”
You sat tight
You were torn between taking a bull-whip and
Scolding for I-don’t-know-what reason
It was after much soul-searching and
Nerve-wracking
That you sold the 21-inch TV set
To restore old peace, you said.

C) Lorot Salem 2010

Teacher's Morning Prayer


We pray that our vocal cords
Don’t burst
After long periods of shouting, howling, reprimanding

We pray that our sanity remains
Safe and dry
While deep recesses of our conscience
edge to madness every waking hour

We pray that our lungs and rib-cages
Don’t get blocked by chalk dust
We inhale in this dusty business

We do this for these
Buds
Ready to blossom to beautiful flowers
And if in the end a coin
Will smoothen our sore vocal cords or
Caress our dead-beat minds or
Water down our chalk-filled lungs
We pray that you plaster a smile on
These agonized faces, contorted in face of miseries
For thou art a teacher to us, O lord
Amen.

C) Lorot Salem 2010

Cheerful Giver

You actually saw his face
Homely and radiant and Christian-like
As his lips belted out a hymn
But chose to ignore the charade
As he fondled the hundred-shilling note
Glazing gleefully, steps calculated down the aisle
Long after the congregation was through with offertory
The cheerful giver must be the last
And the act of charity must not be fast
You fidgeted and cocked your head
And looked at the lectern
As if you expected the Virgin Mary symbol
To become flesh and weep
But you hoped and waited and burned
The smile on his face was as wide as ever now
He took one final sweep at the faithful
You heard his deep resonating voice right
The note reluctantly parted ways
Between giver’s pocket and offertory basket
You heard a subdued click and a sigh
As if of one acquitted
You saw the stunned looks
That told volumes of the wool-thick air
Your Christian self, nonetheless
Agonized and threw up in naked fury
Whether you deemed it holy to
Remain unmoved, only the Good Lord can tell

C) Lorot Salem 2010

Flights of Fancy


It was a time like this, I remember
Dull as ever, juice of life’s sweetness dry
I was seated beside my kinsman
Drinking from the cup of sorrow
He complained of hunger-pangs
Said that if he won’t bite anything
Two nights from now
Then, as a duty, I shall bury his carcass
I offered him a life-saving stratagem
“It’s all about the mind, this hunger thing”
His once sunken eyes glared and glowed
“Think that you ate your fill. Think that your meals are timed.
Program it in the mind and you’ll bid farewell to hunger”
The glow faded and the eyes
Retreated to their cubbyholes
“Kinsman,” I went on, “look at the rich bloke. Matter of fact, I’ve seen them nibble at fried chicken, pay the bill and dash to a business function…”
“Strange thing about that?”
“Of course the man manages a pot-belly. Credit to positive thinking.”
My discourse hung suspended loosely
Between the man’ s ear-hole and ear-drum
Anyway, my line of thinking
Earned me this hellish scar
From my kinsman
Lurking in the shadows of hollowness.

C) Lorot Salem 2010

Thursday 11 November 2010

Four Questions

On a marble wall
a mason engraved writings
bearing questions
baring concealment:
who killed Loitabela our son?
what stole the gold vault?
where were you in 1800?
do you remember the ’67 quake?

Loitabela mysteriously disappeared
the gold vault was stolen
quake struck in 1967
king was dethroned in 1800

the wall pleads
for answers


C) Lorot Salem 2010

Granny Antics

Granny lives
On the fast lane of lives
in grammy award fashion

Granny wears boxers
And chef's cap
On her gray hair painted
blue

Granny lives her '60s
In her old ways
Intertwined with
a sprinkling of the new epoch

Granny slept on the babycot
Yesternight
On her neck was a woolen rope
tied to the grills
I woke her up
Told me: Little thing, have hang myself
Tired of this whole craze!

C) Lorot Salem 2010

Black Sheep

On the shabby college mattress
My dear daughter
thus you were conceived
by then my testosterone-tight blood
threw up in spurts

How frequently we hang in joints
dancing like little robots
lavishly imbibing booze
till doc warned of premature death

How frequently I turned hostels
into Splashwaterworld
earning the label Black Sheep

Daughter
I never intended that you be born
of a college misfit
But welcome, feel welcome

C) Lorot Salem 2010

Lizard Dance

In the serene moonlit night
a chant reverberates
in front trudges a nude trepid girl
behind old women with crackled voices
all leading to the waterfall

the cacophony filters
down the gaping holes of the waterfall
silently weeping for wisps of stolen youth
of a sweet sixteen girl

Mistress granny hurtles like a contraption
then jerks at the waterfall
shrieks like woman possessed
to reveal a glinting knife

only the waterfall groans
the girl, the women and Mistress granny
listen

without cue
Mistress granny ducks before the girl
a lizard dances wildly
on a pool of blood coursing into the
waterfall

soon the groan of the waterfall is drowned
by wild frenzy
 
C) Lorot Salem 2010

I Write Poems

I write poems
poems to renew
the peeling old coats

I write poems
whispering to the
hollows of the heart

I write poems
weeping
for humanity

C) Lorot Salem 2010

Father Damiano

Father Damiano lived a frugal life
Sacrificed his life without a wife
For caring and loving God
Sinners perennial is all he got

Father Damiano loved his Bible
Like drycleaner on foam bubble
He preached with zeal
Oft repeated Amen as a seal

Father Damiano smoked like chimney
When he talked he was charming
Homily served stuffy stiff
Even for sinful brothers like Steve


C) Lorot Salem 2010

Monday 8 November 2010

If there was no night



If there  was no night
Grave-robbers, witches, wizards
Will be forced to revisit their scripts
If there was no night
There will be nothing of those
Twiddle little baby-making precedents
Couples will cuddle in daylight

If there was no night
Night shifts will be no more
Midnight will be scraped
No one will wish ‘Good night’ or ‘Good Morning’
Everything will tug along without break

If there was no night
The glory of sunset will be a history
Sundowner will not be sung
Evening traffic jam will cease

If there was no night
I wouldn’t have written this poem
Such a sight unbeknownst would it be to me

C) Lorot Salem 2010

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