— You say I have wronged you.

You say I have taken what was not mine,

that my hands have strayed where they should not,

that my power has become my pleasure,

that my will turned your silence into chains.

---

— Ah, but let the elders decide!

Let them open their wise old eyes,

let them look into my bag

and tell the world what they find.

---

— Look, great elders—

do you see guilt? Do you smell shame?

Do you find the stain of sin upon my

robes?

No?

Then the matter is settled.

The bag is empty.

The accusation, a whisper lost to the wind.

---

— But you—

yes, you, woman—

you stand there, trembling.

your voice cracking like dry wood in fire.

You say the crime is hidden,

that the bag is full though they refuse to see.

You say the chicken squawks in the dark,

its wings beating against the silence.

---

— Foolish woman!

Do you not know how justice works?

---

— Justice is not the truth you bring,

but the truth we choose to hear.

Justice is not the wound you bear,

but the hands that hold the scales.

Justice is not in your cries,

but in the silence of those who judge.

---

— You think justice is blind?

Aha-ha-ha!

No, she is not.

She sees.

She watches.

In fact, she counts the coins

before she dares speak.

---

— She weighs the names before she moves.

She listens—not to the broken,

but to the powerful,

to the ones whose hands write the law,

whose voices fill the room,

whose laughter drowns out your weeping.

---

— And what have you brought before her?

A story? A plea? A protest?

Do you think words will tip the scales?

Do you think tears will change the weight?

---

— Foolish woman!

The elders have looked,

and they have found nothing.

The elders have spoken,

and they have heard nothing.

The elders have judged,

and they have seen nothing.

---

— So take your cries elsewhere.

Take your truth to the river,

to the trees, to the sky—

but not to this council.

Here, justice is a game—

and I hold the dice.

---