Sometimes, I wonder about the time when
people thought they could not live without a radio,
then television. They believed there was no better
means of communication than by telephone.
Despite it all, I thought question-askers
would be irreplaceable—
for centuries, we had been threading water
for public thirst, a lighthouse guiding uncharted ships,
yet we knew the darkest place was under.

It’s ironic how we’ve been warned,
yet we insisted on pursuing a path
we thought would make an impact,
serving the people. But idealism
doesn’t put food on the table.
In a world where money is the master,
benevolent jobs are always underpaid,
and as we played heroes, we were
exploited, demonized, frowned upon.
Yet, we were irreplaceable, right?

We clung on even when the evangelists piled cash
by offering artificial lights. We held our heads high,
trusting our blurred integrity would pay off,
until came mechanical slaves, silicone brains
our masters love more.
We were irreplaceable
until we could only cling to each other.
In this world where people crave entertainment
over enlightenment, where money is the puppeteer,
our joint hands became a sign of betrayal.

As our grips loosened, we watched our fallen peers,
realizing we, too, are replaceable.

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A solidarity piece for fellow journos around the world facing union busting, massive layoffs. and being replaced by AI amidst intense hoaxes and disinformation circulating in social media.