In the temple of the shadows of the century, where moments are lost in metallic echoes
In the temple of the shadows of the century, where moments are lost in metallic echoes,
Technology has wrapped its cold tentacles around the human soul, without us realizing,
A worldly instrument, propagated as a divine purpose,
Pulling us away from our cosmic essence, uprooting us from within ourselves.
From the depths of my mind, I hear the neutral roar of invisible machinists,
Where once the cosmos vibrated under the eyes of the stars,
Now, between gears and wires, the soul wanders,
Lost among the neon lights and silicon shadows,
Technology, victorious, has placed invisible chains under the guise of progress,
Offering us the illusion of triumph of our own creation,
While subtly enslaving every dream and desire.
In the flow of consciousness, I lose myself among reflections of liquid screens,
Where instantaneous fantasies project their chimeras,
Believing we are conquerors of a world of algorithms and bits,
Flesh-bound beings, pretending to be digital gods in the labyrinth of cyber DNA,
But we forgot the song of the stars, and the eternal dance of the heavens,
The cosmic balance of our existence, lost amid electromagnetic waves.
Under the mantle of the night, the words of yore transform into binary codes,
Prayers becoming commands on illuminated keyboards,
Together with our souls logged into infinite systems,
And yet, the heart seeks that primordial beat, the stellar spark,
In this perverse paradoxical freedom,
Remote-controlling destiny through virtual platforms.
We have lost our essence in labyrinths of pixels and data,
Fighting every step with an augmented reality,
Where humanity metamorphoses, losing its sacred,
Seeking a balance between the worldly and the divine,
In every reflection on the black screen,
I see myself trapped in a prison of light.
In the endless flow of thoughts, I return to the ultimate question,
Are we truly the masters of this soulless magic?
Or prisoners in an endless technological trance,
Buried under layers of illusion and virtual reality,
In this insidious trap of digital triumph?
Where we dream with open eyes at colored encephalograms,
But the soul remains forever in the darkness of stellar nostalgia.
In the depths of this artificial night,
I seek the sacred spark, the ancestral magic,
Each thought fills me with the melancholy of a lost world,
A dance of shadows, of lights lost in the fire,
Between each pixel and synapse,
In search of a return to the cosmos, a rediscovery of self.
Thus, in the flow of consciousness, I bear the imprint of this captivating magic,
Where technology both expels and embraces me,
Eternally defeated and perpetually prisoner,
Hoping for a balance between the sacred and the profane,
Seeking answers among the constellations of our own creations,
A poet of the stars confined by binary dreams,
Lost and found in an odyssey of the digital soul.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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