They sweep to court in flowing thread,
With heavy books and learned heads,
Their voices grave, their faces cool,
Yet some belong not to the Bench, but Stool.
They speak of law with solemn air,
As though pure justice seated there,
But when their rulings reek of greed,
The mask slips off and shows the deed.
A Bench is where the upright sit,
Where wisdom, truth, and law are fit,
A place for minds both firm and fair,
Not bought by bribe nor bent by fear.
A Bench is meant for those who stand
With cleanest heart and steadiest hand,
Who fear no king, obey no purse,
And will not make the nation worse.
But there are some, in robe and chain,
Who turn the law to private gain,
Who dine with thieves, then rise to rule,
These are the Members of the Stool.
They dress corruption up in lace,
And give injustice legal face,
They jail the weak, protect the strong,
Then write long judgments to mask the wrong.
They twist the facts, distort the scale,
And help the truth itself to fail,
They call it law, they call it right,
While strangling justice in broad daylight.
They wink at fraud, they bless deceit,
They trample votes beneath their feet,
Then from the comfort of their stool,
Pronounce the nation calm and cool.
Now hear the link, both sharp and plain,
Between the two we rightly name:
There is a stool on which men sit,
And stool the body passes out of it.
One stool supports the human frame,
The other brings disgust and shame,
But when corrupt men mount the throne,
Too often both are fused in one.
For some sit down on stool to judge,
Then stool out rulings soaked in sludge,
They empty filth on rights and votes,
Then hide the stench in learned notes.
They sit on stool, then stool while sitting,
And call the odour precedent.
They dump on rights, on votes, on justice,
Then ask us all to call it scent.
They stool out orders in the night,
Against the weak, against the right,
And when the people cry, “This is foul!”
They answer back with legal growl.
There are some who, for promised rise,
Will lock up truth before men’s eyes,
Remand the weak in prison to please the State,
Then, dream of higher seat and fate.
They trade their oath for borrowed tool,
Those are Members of the Stool.
And some, when liberty seeks breath,
Will hand it over still to death,
Refuse fair bail when power calls,
Or sign detention from police halls.
Where bribe and fear the gavel rule,
Such hands belong not to Bench, but Stool.
Their judgments drop like soiled disgrace,
They splash upon the public face,
And every page they proudly sign
Smells less like law, more like decline.
That is why Bench and Stool divide,
Though both may serve as seats of pride,
A Bench lifts honour, strength, and school,
A Stool collects the body’s stool.
A Bench is hard because it trains
The back to bear the law’s demands,
It teaches balance, poise, and grace,
And does not stink up every place.
A Stool is lower, easier, smaller,
It asks for little spine at all,
And suits the man who likes to bend,
To crawl for favour, scrape, and send.
Perhaps that is the reason why
Some judges never reach that height,
The Bench requires a straighter soul,
The Stool is made for those who fold.
Yet let us not in anger blind
The honest few of noble mind,
For some still serve with conscience clean,
True Members of the Bench are seen.
They do not sell what must be free,
They guard the law and liberty,
They shame the dark, resist the bribe,
And will not join the crawling tribe.
Their judgments do not limp or smell,
They read the facts, they reason well,
They do not twist the law to tool,
They keep far off from every Stool.
So let the nation learn at last
That robes alone are shadows cast,
For silk and wig, however fine,
Cannot make rotten timber shine.
Call each man by the fruit he bears,
Not by the robe or courtly airs,
The one who keeps the law a shield
Is Bench, unbought, and will not yield.
But he who trades the truth for gold,
Who helps oppression tighten hold,
Who stains the court and mocks the rule,
Is not of Bench, but of the Stool.
And so I say, with rhyme and sting,
Not every judge deserves the ring,
For some uphold the commonwealth,
While some auction justice, law, and health.
Let upright judges wear the Bench,
Its weight, its honour, and its strength,
But those who soil the nation’s school
Belong forever to the Stool.
Agu is a Lawyer | Notary Public | Past Secretary, NBA Owerri | Former Political Detainee [FPD] of Imo State Government.
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