They gather in chambers with polished intent,
With smiles rehearsed and their posture unbent.
One eye on the vote, the other on rent,
For space on the screen, for a headline well-spent.

They whisper in corners, they shout on the floor—
Each word is a weapon, each phrase a decor.
Not truth, but attention, their shimmering meal,
A feast of illusion no conscience can feel.

The statesman once spoke in deliberate tone,
With weight in his silence, conviction his own.
Now he filters his thoughts through a viral iPhone,
Scripted by clicks and algorithms grown.

He paces the aisle with theatrical grace,
More actor than leader in digital space.
He gestures and glares for the late-night review,
Trading policy depth for a retweet or two.

They stage their outrage like actors on cue,
With costumes of anger and slogans brand-new.
Each scandal a script, each drama designed,
With ratings and sponsors not far behind.

A crisis erupts? They rush to the flame—
Not to heal or to help, but to harvest acclaim.
Their lines are rehearsed, their timing precise,
Each moment of grief becomes their device.

The people? Mere extras who murmur and fade,
A blurred-out backdrop to the grand parade.
They listen, they vote, they hope and they try,
But their voices dissolve in the media sky.

While ego parades in a televised charade,
Where substance is lost and gestures are made.
The cameras adore them, the lights never dim—
They worship the lens and the lens worships them.

So here’s to the showmen who govern with flair,
Who speak in bold fonts but deliver hot air.
Whose love of the spotlight outshines their care,
And leaves the republic in disrepair.

The country waits quiet while they chase applause,
Confusing the circus for fighting the cause.
A nation in need looks on with dismay,
As mirrors reflect only masks in the play.