A pretense, makes, intellectual sense
Since intellect, gave in, to, smart-tech
Artificial, seems, intelligence
And ingenuity, is a, bare, blank cheque!
Could it, just be, words, arrayed, on a page
Without, any, substance, spirit, or soul
Our ethos, should scream, in outrage
Since, our wit, our, invention stole!
Why endure, labors, all in vain
When AI, could, redeem, your flair
Poised, between, passion, and, its pain
What’s boon, and bane, is all, laid bare!
Have, we evolved, to, nothingness
With inertia, our, new identity
We’ve sold, our flair, to faux finesse
I P(i)T(y), Such, Creativity!
© 2023 Vikas Chandra