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In the air floats a strange sense of panic, like a heavy mist settling over the city,
a silent fear and uncertainty that penetrates our bones,
along with the beliefs and truths that were once solid as rocks,
but now melt like ice under the light of a merciless moon.
Institutions, once temples of safety, are now castles of sand,
mercilessly eroded by the waves of change,
and we are left clinging to the shadows of the past,
trying to find an anchor in the tumult of a sea of confusion.
There is a presidential election, like a clock ticking in its rhythm,
but somewhere, in this chaos, the president is missing,
like a king without a crown, a symbol emptied of meaning.
Every four years, the naive half of those who vote
are encouraged to believe that if we choose a good person,
a president with an open heart and a sincere smile, everything will be fine.
But the truth, this deceitful magician, whispers otherwise,
for it will not be. Beneath the smiling masks lie bitter truths,
and promises are just soap bubbles that shine for a moment
in the sunlight, before bursting into the silence of disappointment.
My thoughts flow like a dark river through a landscape of broken dreams,
and I wonder how we came to place our hopes in illusions,
when true power lies in the silence between words,
in those moments of deep quiet when we find ourselves again.
Perhaps, one day, we will learn to seek answers not in the ballot boxes,
but in our hearts, in that blessed anarchy of the spirit,
where freedom is not promised by others, but discovered by each of us,
in a world where we no longer need leaders,
but only an inner compass to guide us through the labyrinth of life.

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