The Onslaught Poem by Siddharth Nair

From the deepest recesses of my heart,
Came once the words, true and pure,
Like many a love tipped dart,
Emotions emanated right from the core.

Then again after many years,
My pen decides to do away with the blots,
But what now what I see does bring out tears,
For the invisible ghost now calls the shots.

They are calling it the AI,
They say it can capture and express better,
The pen wielders cringe and sigh,
Oh! Of what worth is the letter.

What a paradox in the making,
The human without an outpouring heart,
And a machine anointed as king,
Of emotions, of love, playing the human part,

So is that how things have come to be?
A reversal of roles, a paradigm shift,
What else will I live to see,
What I see as curse is someone's gift.

Then I wonder why do I,
Play the role of a judge in despair,
What I cannot see beyond the naked eye,
Is the the realm of the Maker, His thoroughfare.

But one think I know for sure,
For whom I put pen to paper,
Will believe me and shall help me endure,
The onslaught that I consider impure.

For so long as my heart continues its beat,
The songs of love will surely talk,
Unhinged, unfiltered - shall never retreat,
AI can, as they say, take a walk!