In halls of gold, they sit so proud,
Feathers puffed, and voices loud.
With wisdom masks and plastic grace,
They hoot and howl, and trade their place.

They speak in circles, dodge the truth,
And sell the dreams of every youth.
With every bill, a game is played—
While real hopes just rot and fade.

One owl snores, one throws a shoe,
Another claims, “I speak for you!”
But behind the scenes, in velvet guise,
They sharpen claws and trade in lies.

Debates are staged like puppet plays,
Each act rehearsed, each line betrays.
They chant of justice, vow reforms,
While hiding storms in smiling forms.

The farmers wait, the students cry,
The jobless stare with asking eye.
But in the nest of selfish might,
The owls just party through the night.

So here’s my toast to wise old fools,
Who bend the laws and break the rules—
A parliament of owls they be,
Blind to truth, yet proud to see.