Power. It’s an intoxicating elixir, isn’t it? The word alone drips with promises of control, influence, and dominion. Yet, here we are—peons in a field of chaff, sold the glittering fantasy of democracy while the elites carve up the pie. Politics, my friends, is nothing but a popularity contest for the unattractive souls who covet more than they deserve. And like moths to the flame, we gather, deluded into thinking we’re part of the process.

Let’s dispense with the fairy tales, shall we? This isn’t a democracy. This is a feudal system draped in red, white, and blue, with just enough bread and circuses to keep us pacified. Rights? Sure, we have them—until they become inconvenient. Democracy? Only if you can afford the ticket price. Power? That belongs to the puppet masters behind the curtain, the ones pulling the strings while we applaud the shadows they cast.

And here’s the bitter truth: at least in a dictatorship, the enemy has a face. A king can lose his head. A despot can be overthrown. Tyranny, for all its evils, is visible. Tangible. You can touch the crown, feel the weight of it, and if you’re brave—or desperate—enough, you can take it. But here? What do we have? A constitution that whispers of revolution but shackles us with inertia. A system that pays lip service to change but balks at the heavy lifting required to make it happen.

We have this sacred parchment, this Constitution, as though it were carved by the hand of some divine being. And what does it instruct us to do? Adapt. Amend. Evolve. It demands of us the courage to question, to challenge, to rise when the system fails to serve the people. But instead, we bow to its words as though they are immutable. We cling to the illusion of permanence while our so-called leaders hollow out its core. They don’t honor it; they weaponize it. They twist it into a tool not for freedom, but for control.

So, what do we do? Do we rise up, torches and pitchforks in hand, storm the metaphorical Bastille, and demand the heads of those who profit from our servitude? Do we dare to believe that we, the peasants, still hold the power to tear down this corrupt edifice and build something better? Or do we sit idly by, placated by the lies they feed us, too distracted by our daily struggles to take on the Herculean task of reclaiming what’s ours?

Change isn’t comfortable. It isn’t polite. It’s hard work. It’s messy. And more often than not, it comes at a cost. Our ancestors understood this. They bled for it, died for it, so that we wouldn’t have to. Or so we thought. But the truth is, the fight is never over. The moment we stopped struggling, the moment we believed the job was done, we handed the keys of the kingdom to those who never stopped scheming to take them from us.

You want power? Then take it. Stop waiting for permission from the very system designed to deny it to you. Stop revering the Constitution as a relic of perfection and start seeing it for what it is: a tool, one that demands to be used. It’s not sacred. It’s not untouchable. It’s a blueprint for change, and it’s up to us to build something worthy of it.

So here we are, at the crossroads of complacency and action. Raise your glass to the system, my fellow peasants, and ask yourself: what kind of world are you willing to fight for? Because while they may control the board, we still have the pieces. The only question left is: are you ready to make your move?