Have you ever heard a politician explain his heart? No? Me neither. Here, though, someone praises his own goodness while sweeping the hunger of a hundred thousand families under the rug. Every time they step onto the stage, they speak of new bridges and roads, renovated schools and revitalized healthcare. Too bad that when the lights go out, construction sites stay closed and old walls keep collapsing on the heads of the most fragile. They talk about work, growth, the future. But their job is to stay comfortable, their growth exists only on private ledgers, and their future is the next election campaign. The people, instead, remain stuck between broken promises and the bill due at month’s end. You see them smile at the cameras, shake spotless hands, pose with a child in their arms—the instant image of a family man. Then, once the flash goes off, that child is just another line item in the cuts column. They have the power to change laws, rewrite the Constitution, yet they cannot change the way they think. They fiercely defend those who buy votes with bank accounts and reject those who ask for dignity with voices cracked by fatigue. They hear the people’s voice only when it echoes in the polls. Then they suffocate it with rhetoric and political litany, behind closed doors scented with antique drapes and whispering lobbyists. And us? We remain outside, voting card in hand, ready to stick on a new label every five years. They tell us, “You count—your vote is yours.” But who audits their own counts? Who checks benefits, mandates, conflicts of interest? After every election we learn nothing has changed, that yesterday’s trampled rights will be trampled tomorrow too. So we ask: “Why do we keep believing those who peddle fairness in a market where the only commodity is privilege?” Perhaps we’re too tired to think for ourselves, or we lack the courage to demand more. So we hand over our keys again, entrusting them to those who hold the violin of proclamations but cannot play the chord of responsibility. It’s time to reclaim the square, to raise our voices beyond rigged microphones, to stop applauding the theater of promises. We don’t ask for a new King—we ask for people who know what true public service is, who measure their greatness not in votes, but in solidarity. When you see a politician actually pause to listen—not that showy “we interrogate you,” but the muted echo of real needs—then you’ll know the season of puppets is over. It will be the start of a new music: that of the people deciding and of those no longer afraid to turn the page.