Shylock's Pound Of Flesh Poem by Dr Igbinedion Obaretin

Shylock's Pound Of Flesh



You call yourself ‘The Law'
Fashioned to deliver decorum, justice
To humanity chaotic civilization.
You are so proud of your ultimate power.
I do not hate your pride,
I do not hate your ultimate voice;
I hate your soiled garment,
I hate the wigs of deceit on your head,
I hate those inherent flaws of yours.
They turn my stomach in a nauseating quest.
I abhor those three Ijebu tribal marks of yours
Rainbows across your ugly face:

You make claim to justice
I never find in you.
You sent that young man away for 14 years,
Though he had sent his sister on a journey
Across rivers of no return in her youth.
Will he not still be fed by my laborious tax?

With your magnifying spectacle
You remain as blind as the bat.
How many transgressors do you see?
Only a few that lacks wit, caught
Defecating on your curious insensitive noise;
The lots uncaught are gentlemen!

Speculating all night, my head aches
Yet I cannot find a better alternative
To your lawful lawlessness, allowing
The reign of your mediocrity all over
A civilization lacking real justice,
Enslaved by the error of Shylock's pound of flesh.

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