No One Wants to Be a Hiker Anymore
(and even freedom isn’t safe)
This world turned into a shithole—
not just dirty,
but hollow.
Addicted gamblers in glass casinos
no one remembers building.
They grew tall overnight,
like tumors,
spreading neon and debt
where silence used to live.
No one wants to be a hiker anymore.
No one wants to feel stones under bare feet,
to follow the wind,
to be a raw,
uninvited,
respectful guest
in nature’s home.
They want reward systems.
They want notifications.
They want loud applause
for empty steps.
And on the other side—
the patients.
The ones who stay sick
not for days,
but for decades.
Invisible lives
that pass like clouds—
always there,
but rarely named.
Even motorcyclists crash
when they try to roam freely.
Even wind chasers fall.
Because this world
no longer makes room
for the ones who dare
to live without rails.
Where are the ones
who used to bow to trees?
Where are the ones
who sat by rivers
without trying to own them?
We’ve lost the slowness.
We’ve lost the whisper.
We’ve traded sacredness
for scratch cards.
And me?
I miss the dirt.
The real kind.
The kind that stays
under your fingernails
and reminds you:
You are still
alive.