Under the velvet sky of night, where stars weave their magical web

Under the velvet sky of night, where stars weave their magical web, my thoughts flow like a silent river through the dark forest of the mind, carrying with them the shadows and lights of lost and rediscovered dreams. I wonder, in the silence that envelops everything, if freedom is just an echo of voices frozen in time, lost in the boundless abysses of consciousness. In a world where opinions are fragile flowers in the constrained garden of reason, and debate is a dancer chained by its own movements, we move like puppets on the stages of an invisible theater, believing we are free, yet bound by the invisible strings of a sublime control. Criticism becomes a siren's song, drawing us into the whirlpool of illusion, and dissent, a glass illusion, shining in the false light of a feigned freedom. I imagine how our thoughts tumble like stones down a steep slope, hitting the narrow edges of the acceptable, ever narrower, ever colder. There, in that tight perimeter, revolts and hopes are born, but they are merely pale flames, extinguishing the moment they touch the imposed threshold. Deep within me, an unbounded longing weeps for unpolished truths, for free thoughts to soar like birds in the endless sky, but I always wake up within the same invisible boundaries, a circle of fire and ice, where each step is a compromise, a renunciation, a silent resignation. And yet, in this melancholic night, under the velvet sky, the dream of freedom finds its way, like a ray of light through heavy clouds, and I wonder if perhaps, even within these limits, there is hope, a hope that one day, we will break the invisible chains and fly, in a fearless dance of free, unrestrained, infinite thoughts.