With something drifting and something shifting, the earth still held the sky.
I felt like writing a poem
In the middle of the night
The ideas came scrambling
But soon after, took flight.
A molting nomad came along
In time and delayed
It flit about and went away
Yet gave me words that stayed.
Post a Comment
(As posted on LinkedIn) Premchand and the AI-sentiment The world today seems to be wrapped in a fever-dream of AI and attention-conquest. T...
No comments:
Post a Comment