In the noise of the city,
where faces merge with cold screens,
we live in an era of empty echoes
and weary of shouting into the void.

The streets are labyrinths of concrete and glass,
distorted reflections of fragmented dreams,
and advertisements blink like empty promises,
poisoning the mind with unfulfilled desires.

We live in an era of illusory connection,
where smiles are posted and liked
and truth gets lost among filters and hashtags
like a cry stifled in the night.

The ground crumbles beneath our feet
and the future sketches itself as a shadow
displaced and fragmented
on the screen that lights up our tired faces.

There is a melancholy in the softness of touch
as if skin dissolves into pixels
and love has become an algorithm,
calculated and disconnected.

We lose ourselves in the mirror of fame
in an endless search for acceptance,
where individuality dissolves
in the uniformity of consumption.

And as the whistles of machines sound
and yesterday’s news repeats like a mantra,
the world spins, insensitive and indifferent,
and we are small echoes of a forgotten past.

Perhaps the answer lies in disconnection,
in finding a piece of true silence,
where we can breathe without the pressure of images
and remember what it means to be truly human.

In the vastness of the digital desert
we search for something real,
while loneliness is a familiar echo
and hope, a flame that slowly fades...