In palaces tall or hovels low, We kneel beneath the state's shadow— A slave in silk is still enchained Where Caesar’s will remains unstrained. Did not Sulla's wrath once scorch the scrolls, When Rome’s own blood lined deathly rolls? The Senate bowed, its pride undone, By proscriptions carved in iron and sun. If tyranny writes its price in fear, Why trade our souls year after year? The law of man shifts like the sand— The law of God, a firmer stand. So what of sharia, etched with grace, A justice not swayed by power’s face? If heaven offers fairer terms, Why settle still for worldly worms? What bargain holds more lasting worth: The fleeting crowns of trembling earth, Or timeless peace, divinely spun— Where conscience serves the Only One?