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In a universe of glass and steel, where fluorescent light dances on cold walls, We have lost ourselves, men of the age, caught in the trap of a paper dream, Where the tie becomes a noose, suffocating any impulse of freedom, And each day is an absurd play, performed under the gaze of relentless shadows. Here, in the cages of concrete, masculinity breaks like a reed in the storm, Adorned with trivial, illusory tasks that reduce us to the silence of an unheard whisper, And our souls, like dried-up rivers, seek salvation in the memory of freedom, In a world where paper hierarchies are sandcastles, built to bury us. The divorce between spirit and body began in windowless offices, Where personality crumbles under the weight of forced smiles and false courtesies, And in this space, toxic femininity carves its path, a serpent with sharp-worded scales, Leaving behind a trail of ruined reputations, wounded souls, and shattered dreams. But we, lost in this labyrinth of futility, know that beyond these walls, There is a horizon where we are still free to rediscover our essence, For true masculinity is never lost, it merely awaits the moment to be reborn, Like a sun hidden behind the heavy clouds of a world that refuses to see it.

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