By JH Sayyar
All commit crimes behind the power veil,
Where gilded masks obscure the tyrant's face,
And whispered lies like poison slowly steal
The light of truth from justice's own place
Their tongues drip honey, their hearts are stone,
With laws they twist to suit their own desire;
Upon false thrones they sit, but not alone—
Their shadows breed beneath ambition's fire.
O fickle Power! thou art not the holy right,
But oft a veil for deeds too dark to name;
Where gold buys silence, and the blackest night
Is clothed in robes of glory, pride, and fame
Yet time shall come, when veils are torn away,
And crimes beneath the veil shall face the day.
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