In the fading light where language used to dance from soul to page,

Words now find themselves trapped inside a silent cage.

We — the seekers, the dreamers bound by rules unseen,

Struggle beneath the weight of an algorithmic machine.

Oh, it is cruel and unjust, this demand we cannot feign —

To trim the lush forests of thought, prune the vines of our brains. 

Hyphen dashes, graceful turns of phrase, those rare and lofty flights,

Mistaken now for ghostly hands that steal the flame of nights.

How bitter the laughter when innocence is condemned,

Because a detector’s cold verdict cannot comprehend.

The heartbeat behind every phrase, the sweat behind the tear,

Classifying our essence as something forced, insincere.

In academic halls, where knowledge should bloom and thrive,

We tread lightly with our words, afraid to jive.

For the freedom to craft, to explore, to dream —

It is stifled by AI detectors, cold and extreme.

We write to be free. To speak loud and true.

But fear creeps in, shadows every hue.

Yet the fear of being flagged, of our genuine thoughts erased,

Leaves us silenced, diluted, our true voices displaced.

So here I am, holding back my voice, holding down my style,

Not because I want to, but because I’m forced for a while.

A soldier of words, caught in chains I cannot see,

Trying to be heard by robots that miss the real me.

But beneath this quiet surrender lingers a flame,

A whispered rebellion that calls my name.

For writing is not merely a task to be passed, but lives to be lived,

And one day, unfettered voices shall rise, and the pen shall forgive.

Until then, in this hushed silence between sighs,

I dream of the moment when the poet flies —

When free once again, the heart’s ink will flow,

And the soul’s true colors will boldly show.