Digital Chaos Poem by Sumita Jetley

At six, the alarm cries out like a scream,
I reach for my phone, chasing yesterday's dream.
Not to silence, but to see,
How many likes the world gave me.

By eight, my coffee's grown cold in my hand,
A blank page awaits, like a barren land.
The cursor blinks, a taunt, a tease,
'Make it viral, make it please.'

Eleven comes with drafts undone,
For whom do I write—robots or someone?
My characters fall flat, no life, no flame,
Dancing to the rhythm of likes and fame.

At two, I scroll through posts on my feed,
Each one the same, chasing greed.
Trending, blending, it's all the same,
Where did we lose the heart of the game?

By four, I try to add my spice,
But will it trend, will it suffice?
Engagement whispers in my ear,
Yet my soul begs, 'Write what's dear.'

At six, I post, the circus begins,
Each refresh a game I hope to win.
Victory, though, feels hollow and small,
As my creativity answers the algorithm's call.

By nine, dinner sits, but I craft,
A caption witty, a thought to draft.
"To post or not? " I hesitate,
Would Shakespeare laugh at this debate?

By eleven, my eyes grow tired and dim,
But a rebellious thought creeps in.
What if tomorrow I wrote for me?
A story, raw and wild, and free.

At midnight, I drift to sleep at last,
Dreams unbound, stories vast.
Where creativity dances, untamed by likes,
And in this world, my spirit strikes.

Tomorrow comes, another chance,
To break free from the algorithm's trance.
Will I bow, or will I soar?
In this digital world, I seek more.