After twenty-one,
a man is no longer just a man—
he becomes a shadow of responsibility,
a silent soldier of the family plan.
His dreams don't die in a single night,
they slowly fade, day by day,
as reality pulls him by the collar
and drags his youth away.
He wakes up with a heavy mind,
yet pretends he is okay,
because a man is not allowed to break—
not even for a day.
He smiles for the world,
while storms rage inside his chest,
he carries pain like a hidden wound
and calls it "being strong" at best.
He begins to understand—
love is not always soft and warm,
sometimes love means sacrifice,
sometimes love is a storm.
He wants to scream,
but he swallows every word,
because his silence is his armor,
and his pride is his sword.
He learns that happiness is expensive,
and peace is hard to buy,
so he works and works and works again,
while his youth slowly says goodbye.
His friends start disappearing,
his laughter becomes rare,
and even in a crowded room,
he feels nobody is there.
He is needed by everyone,
but remembered by none,
because a man's worth is measured
by what he has done.
If he fails, they blame him.
If he succeeds, they demand more.
And no one asks how he is breathing
when life becomes a war.
He becomes the bridge,
so others can cross with ease,
yet nobody notices the cracks
beneath his knees.
He becomes the candle,
burning silently in the dark,
lighting the way for others—
while he loses his own spark.
And still…
he walks forward.
Not because he is fearless,
but because he has no choice.
A man is not guided by freedom—
he is guided by duty's voice.
So I say, my brother,
listen to this truth so clear—
after twenty-one,
a man doesn't live for himself anymore…
he lives for everyone he holds dear.