In the deepest dream, an island of data gleamed
In the deepest dream, an island of data gleamed,
Not made of sand, but codes, a new Eden that fascinated us.
Where weeping and hunger were only memories of longing,
But the Serpent of Surveillance asked: "What is their freedom?"
Happy are those fed by algorithms, day by day,
But woe to those who no longer know what it means to choose, to be.
Some say they are free, for they feel the good that watches over them,
Others weep for the loss of will, for good betrays them.
Hot wind erases professions, in the desert of change,
People seek knowledge under the sun of automation.
Some were reborn with new callings, talents to discover,
Others were lost in the sands, in endless courses.
The Tower of Babel of Data rises toward dreamy skies,
But their languages are confused, bias and corruption have spoken.
The tower sways under its immense weight,
Many remain prisoners, algorithms give them no rhythm.
Digital manna falls from heaven, likes and rewards,
But too much manna leaves the soul empty, senseless.
This food doesn't nourish the heart, only an illusion,
Those who are satisfied too quickly lose essence in confusion.
The Beast with metal arms works without error,
People see it as salvation, but also as fatal defiance.
Soon, the beast takes both bread and the meaning of daily life,
Some worship, others flee, seeking the freedom to be.
Neural mirrors rise, imitating the human face,
But in reflections there is no soul, only a void, a plan.
Those who look too much lose their own face,
In a world of illusions, where shadows scatter.
The city where doors are transparent, full of eyes,
People enter for safety, but the chains are rocks.
The walls are algorithmic, the gates biometric,
No one knows where protection is and where the eternal chains are.
Blessed are those who see the light beyond algorithms,
Those who don't sell their freedom for happiness from rhythms.
Blessed are those who keep the question alive: who am I?
For to them the Kingdom of Freedom shall always open.
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