In the Name of Justice-Whose Justice?

The smiling faces —
celebrated in words,
abandoned in deeds.
Just waiting,
promising "tomorrow,"
stretching endlessly —
and in that delay,
the damage is done.
But no one knows
whose justice it truly is.

The gears of justice, caked in rust,
turn with a groan, a painful crawl.
Behind the smiles, a careful lie—
a polished surface hides it all.
Grand pronouncements fill the air,
of empathy and righteous might,
yet hands remain unmoved by care,
and darkness swallows what is right.

Each lofty phrase, a hollow sound,
as actions wither and decline.
On barren ground, our hopes are bound
to promises that intertwine
with blatant disregard and ease—
a widening chasm, stark and deep,
where spoken comfort brings no peace,
and silent suffering makes us weep.

The endless stretch of “soon” and “then,”
a cruel deception, softly spun.
The vibrant words, once full of grace,
now mock the hollowness begun.
Frustration festers, sharp and keen,
a bitter taste upon the tongue.
Despair—a landscape, cold and mean,
where silent battles go unsung.

So we are left with hollow praise,
and futures constantly postponed,
lost in this labyrinthine maze,
where justice is forever loaned
but never truly given free.
And in this agonizing plight,
we only know the misery
of words unburdened by the right.

Time stretches out, a barren land,
where hope is starved and dreams decay.
The promised help—we understand—
was just another price to pay.
So we stand here, in the fading light,
and ask again with weary breath:
Whose justice is it? What is right?
And who will save us from this death?