Solomon’s Time-Machine Poem by Joseph S. Josephides

I drive the time-machine of Solomon wherever
Justice is wounded and needs an urgent therapy.

Avgias cheated Hercules but was judged by his son
Fyleas; we bound his eyes, yet found his father unfair.

In Judea my master drew a sword to split the child,
to see who of the two was his real mother. Who else
but the one wriggling: 'Don’t! Give him to that woman”.

Outside Paris we set a bell for complainers to ring
for Carlomagnus to interrupt ceremonies and justify.

In Rapid City of USA the trial was not easy at all.
Arlet gave birth to her grandkids Chad and Chelsea.
‘The children are mine’ daughter Christa was wailing;
then the judge whipped both in front of the kids saying:
‘the one for whom the kids cry more, she keeps them’
Pain tells what counts more, the seed or the matrix.

In Lyon my master whispered to the judge as Solomon,
so Corin gave birth using a sperm of her dead husband.

Before we fly high, for justice of born and unborn,
of fishes, trees even quadrupeds to centipedes,
let us relax our heart in the vineyards of Engati, first
our island which is pressed under the stone of injustice.

I, pilot of the time-machine of Solomon, having as salary
the oxygen of the justice, free of smoke or pollution,
I affirm that the word human means 'look upwards'.


© JosephJosephides