In the city where thoughts are sculptures of mist on the lawns
In the city where thoughts are sculptures of mist on the lawns,
And the lawns are green seas where nameless dreams sail,
People become shadows, smoke figures entwined in the same dance,
Losing their meaning, reflecting in screens of shared illusions.
In search of uniqueness, egos become towers of crystal,
Raising golden flags in the wind of silent indifference.
Wealth becomes a stage, fame just an echo of a dream,
But beneath the mask of brilliance, we are all figures in the same dream.
In the schools of non-identity, thoughts are rows of houses,
Where souls seek to escape through glass windows.
Identical gazes, glued to screens reflecting the same longing,
Sharing the same thought, yet getting lost in the crowd.
The paradox of unity in diversity is a field of cold stars,
Free thinking does not unite us, but acceptance might.
Yet many cannot find their way through the labyrinth of the mind,
Remaining sand sculptures, carried by the wind of forgotten time.
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