Blind Justice, Silent Courts: A Poem by Concetta Pipia

The law’s a shadow, thin as paper, bare,
Whispering in corridors where time forgets.

Justice, they say, is blind—but where?
Her scales unbalanced, tarnished with regrets.

A gavel, silent, gathers dust and shame,
While murmurs die, trapped in this legal net.

The guilty stroll through life unblamed,
As innocence decays, a slow decay.

We wait, our patience worn like threadbare cloth,
Hope fades, replaced by cynic’s hollow grin.

The hour is late, and mercy’s far off,
No comfort comes where truth is locked within.

The courts are mazes, winding without end,
Each turn a riddle, justice masked in lies.

We seek her face, but all we find, my friend,
Is bureaucratic fog that blinds our eyes.

And so we wander, lost in legal night,
The stars of truth obscured by clouds of doubt.

No morning dawns to bring us righteous light,
Justice delayed—a justice lived without.

The pages turn, but nothing’s written new,
A record kept of all that’s left undone.

And in the silence grows a bitter truth,
That justice lost is justice never won.