The Man Who Forgot to Breathe

I)

The Man who forgot to breathe,

Wears a tie of chains and sleeps beneath

A ceiling built of flickering screens,

His soul smothered in nicotine dreams.

Once gods sang under starlit domes—

Now echoes dwell in plastic homes.

No muse remains to kiss his head;

He scrolls through life but feels half-dead.

II)

O Hollow Man, you walk like reeds,

Bent by winds of plastic needs.

Your bones are firm, your will is weak,

You shout in crowds, yet never speak.

Your eyes have screens instead of sight,

You greet the dawn with LED light.

The forest weeps but you do not hear—

Your earbuds block the voice of deer.

III)

You worship likes, you kneel for fame,

While mocking prophets, saints, and flame.

Your mirror shows a concrete face,

Your heart a server in cyberspace.

You’ve sold your blood to build the grid,

And buried wonder where dreams hid.

You Google love, but never feel—

You swipe for joy, but it’s not real.

IV)

You speak in hashtags, die in suits,

Your silence stitched with legal disputes.

You laugh at tales of wind and fire,

And scorn the man with small desire.

You scoff at those who chase the stars,

Yet auction off your soul in bars.

You mock the poet, call him mad—

But mourn when you’ve lost what you never had.

V)

I saw you—

Feeding pigeons pixel bread,

Telling children, “Dreams are dead.”

Wearing armor made of debt,

Drowning in your own regret.

You beat your brother for a coin,

Then ask the world for peace to join.

You chant for love but live in fear—

The truth too loud, you cannot hear.

VI)

O sons of Adam, what have you done?

You’ve torn the heavens, blocked the sun.

You’ve burned the books and kissed the guns,

You praise the moon, yet flee the one.

The soul, you say, is just a myth,

The tree of life—a children's myth.

You build your towers with your pride,

Then fall from them and call it stride.

VII)

You do not drink from rivers wild,

You sip from plastic, poisoned, styled.

Your clock is god, your boss divine,

You sell your breath by hourly line.

You beat the drum of modern worth—

But never touch the ancient earth.

Your children ask, “Where is the sky?”

You tell them, “Buy it when you die.”

VIII)

And still you sleep with vacant gaze,

Enslaved by screens that loop for days.

Your mind—a maze of junkyard thoughts,

Your heart—a vault with rusted locks.

You take advantage, call it smart,

You torture minds, then call it art.

You smile at death with practiced grace,

But die each morning, face by face.

IX)

You found contentment in the pit,

You call it "freedom"—but you sit.

Abuse is now a viral trend,

And truth? A post you failed to send.

The bird no longer sings at dawn—

She tweets now, just to carry on.

The mountain weeps behind your glass,

But you’re too busy pumping gas.

X)

Where are the men with fiery eyes?

The ones who rose with no disguise?

Where is the soul, the sacred flame,

That once defied the worldly game?

You’ve lost the music in the tree,

You’ve caged the hawk, unlearned the sea.

You’re ghosts in skin, machines in suits,

Your hearts replaced by legal loops.

XI)

O Man! Return before the toll,

Before they digitize your soul.

Reclaim your breath, your soil, your sky—

Or be content to slowly die.

Reject this world that taught you greed,

That fed you pride and named it "need".

The stars still call—go learn to hear,

Before you trade your last frontier.

XII)

For once I saw a boy asleep,

With dirt on hands, his heart still deep.

He dreamt of rivers, eagles, suns—

Unplugged from all the plastic guns.

He will rise, if not today—

To show the lost a different way.

But will he find a world worth breath?

Or just the silence born of death?

(Thanks for Reading!)