From Rural Lives to Mass Psychosis
They woke with the sun,
hands rough with soil,
eyes soft with rivers and wind.
The fields knew their names,
the stones remembered their weight.
Now the cities hum—
a thousand screens glow like false dawn,
a choir of voices not their own
whispers into every ear:
buy, believe, obey.
Once, silence was sacred.
Now noise has become religion.
Once, bread was broken.
Now faces are broken—
fragmented reflections in glass towers.
From rural lives,
rooted deep in earth’s patience,
to mass psychosis,
rooted in endless hunger.
And still,
the soil waits.
The rivers wait.
The wind waits.
For the return of the human heart.