The Masked Throne Poem by ashok jadhav

Beneath the gilded halls and polished floor
The judges whisper of the sins they see.
Their robes are bright, their words proclaim the law,
Yet hands are stained with quiet compromise.
They speak of virtue while their eyes avert
From truths that challenge comfort, wealth, or pride.
The sermons rise like candles in the dark,
Illuminating faults of those below,
While shadows cling to every act they hide.
No cry of reason dares disturb their seat,
For power shields the hypocrite from doubt.
The world perceives the mask, yet bends in awe,
Uncertain which is guide and which is guise.
And still the heart that watches learns its test:
To seek integrity when none is shown,
To weigh the word against the hand that gives,
And find its own compass in the absence of light.