In chambers cloaked in shadows deep,
Where whispers weave through gilded halls,
The law, a mantle, thin and steep,
Enfolds the few while silence falls.
Beneath the marble’s cold embrace,
The common man is but a ghost,
His pleas dissolve in time and space,
A fleeting wisp, a fleeting boast.
For in the tomes where statutes lie,
The ink is steeped in privilege’s hue,
To shield the hands that reach the sky,
While binding chains on me and you.
The scales, once balanced, now betray,
A symmetry of power’s game,
Where justice wears a mask of gray,
And equity is but a name.
The courtiers dance, the judges nod,
In banquet halls of wealth and pride,
While those outside, with hope, still plod,
Their fates entwined, yet cast aside.
Oh, let the gavel strike in vain,
For truth is lost in wealth’s embrace,
A fortress built on others’ pain,
A bastion of the privileged race.
Yet still, the heart of many beats,
In shadows cast by gilded beams,
Awake, they rise, with steady feats,
To claim the law, to claim their dreams.
For though the law may serve the throne,
Its roots are sown in common ground,
And from the ashes, voices grown,
Shall challenge chains that long abound.
So let us stand, with courage bold,
For justice, though it wears a shroud,
Is more than power’s tale retold—
It is the hope of every crowd.
