He ran through the labyrinth that led to ‘her justice’s’ court,
Accused yet pled “not guilty“, ‘confessing’ was his last resort,
He stepped into the hall, where justice is supposedly served,
“All rise” has echoed inside him and he’s been duly unnerved.
Her honor was sitting smiling on a bench so high above,
He dared not approach her, he was shivering: well, sort of!
The jury was all firmly seated, he knew them more than words can say,
Some were enemies he has defeated, others were friends lost along the way.
Her honor nodded pleasantly, a sign for him to speak,
He cleared his throat, then uttered three words in a voice fragile and weak,
Her honor smiled in apathy, her ego she could never hide,
He knew then and there: his words only slew his pride.
The more his voice trembled, the more her honor’s face calmed,
And the courage he hardly assembled, easily scattered as she smiled,
At some point during his testimony he wished he’d vanish without a trace,
Yet finally and in desperation he whispered quietly: “I rest my case”.
Has the jury reached a verdict or a decision of some sort?
No one knew yet all remembered what he said when he left the court,
“Never make of your feelings jury, they’ll fail you, can’t you see?
My crime was being in love with a woman who won’t love me”
A. L. Gomaa ©November 2007