The Weight Of Clean Hands Poem by Emeka GOC

The Weight of Clean Hands
Two pillars rise from ancestral earth, A dual balance woven before birth.Cosmic law deeply, silently cast, In the soil of the present, the breath of the past.Unbroken equity, a sacred, twin sign, Where truth and justice forever entwine.Ọfọ na Ogu: separate, yet bound, A spiritual court where true might is found.No silver-tongued lie can alter the scale, Where the universe watches and ancestors prevail.The innocent rest in a fortress of peace, While the hands of the guilty find no release.Look to the Ọfọ, the branch made divine, A sacred staff carved in a secret shrine.Held fast by the elders, the kings, and the priests, To quiet the storms and to tame the fierce beasts.Aka jiofo, Ike jiofo—the mandate to speak, To tether the skies to the small and the meek.Yet the staff is but wood without the unseen, The invisible Ogu that keeps a soul clean.The quiet conviction, the lack of a stain, The moral armor through conflict and pain.For the grandest authority crumbles to dust, If the heart of the speaker is cold and unjust.Let the tyrant advance with his weapons and pride, He cannot wield power with guilt at his side.The cosmos remembers, the balance will turn, And the fires of deception will silently burn.So the blameless stand tall, looking up to the sun, Declaring the battle is already won: "Ejiri m gị Ọfọ na Ogu, " they cry, Surrendering truth to the judge in the sky.With hands completely open, transparent and bare, They leave their vindication to the cosmic air.