A hall filled with voices
that never quite listen to one another.
Every word is a stone
thrown across invisible borders.

Promises pile up
like papers no one reads,
while outside the windows
people wait for something to move
faster than speeches,
truer than applause.

Power is not a crown
but a shifting weight,
passed from hand to hand,
sometimes dropped,
sometimes clutched too tightly.

And beneath it all,
the quiet pulse of lives
that do not fit into manifestos,
yet carry the country forward
step by step.