In the grand theater of everyday absurdity,
the actors wear masks of cheerful dissonance.
Do you hear? Oh, it's just the hum of familiar discontent,
the echo you recognized before you learned to forget.
Once, we scripted our lives with nuance,
lost in the pauses of typewriters and trembling pens.
Now, we type and swipe, our scripts melting beneath the glow
of screens too bright for sober reflection.
Nostalgic whispers in rented rooms,
floating like dust motes in sunset's embrace.
Shadow Play or
Murmur History - choose your echo wisely.
There’s irony in silence,
a melancholic balm for the overstimulated mind.
Listen closely, and you might just hear
the quiet rebellion of unresolved dialogues.