In halls where whispers carve the fate,
Where power dances, sways, and waits,
The puppeteers with strings so fine,
Craft destinies with unseen signs.

The people’s voice, a distant hum,
In chambers where the mighty come,
To weave their tales, both true and lies,
Beneath the watchful, painted skies.

Governance, a fragile art,
Of shadows playing their part,
Decisions made behind closed doors,
Echo through the streets and shores.

Yet hope persists in hearts so bold,
For change, for truth, for stories told,
That one day justice, clear and bright,
Will reign with wisdom, strength, and light.