Is It Real
(A Poem About Deepfakes and the Age of Deception)
In a world where truth once wore a face,
Now shadows mimic, take its place.
The screen lights up—you think you know,
But lies wear skin and steal the show.
That voice you trust? It’s just a file.
That famous smile? A crooked guile.
A clip goes viral, shared with speed—
But pause. Look close. What does it need?
It needs belief, your guard brought down,
A borrowed voice, a pixel crown.
A nod, a phrase, a tear, a grin—
Yet none of it came from within.
What are Deepfakes? A clever scheme
Where AI paints a waking dream.
It learns your face, it learns your tone,
Then builds a puppet of your own.
A stitch of data, frame by frame,
And soon you’re saying things with shame.
Or dancing, lying, weeping lies—
While truth stands gagged behind its eyes.
They fake a leader’s warlike threat,
They fake confessions, rage, regret.
A friend, a foe, a journalist—
All made to speak by ones and twists.
A CEO can fake a deal,
A lover fake the way they feel.
A scandal born, a market crushed,
While real events are drowned or hushed.
So how are we tricked? It’s subtle, slow.
We trust the things we think we know.
The way he moves, the way she talks—
But these are keys in clever locks.
Our brains are wired to believe
The eyes, the ears—they don’t deceive!
But now they can. And that’s the trap:
A doctored world in every app.
The line is blurred, the air is thick.
Lies dressed in HD come in quick.
We scroll, we like, we share, we rage—
Unknowing pawns upon the stage.
So now we ask with sharpened sight:
Is it real, or just made right?
Did she really cry? Did he really shout?
Or did some coder swap them out?
Don’t trust your gut—trust what you check.
Don’t ride the wave—step back, inspect.
Seek context. Sources. Ask who gains.
Who profits when confusion reigns?
Pause the clip. Look for the glitch.
Slow the feed and scratch the itch.
Reverse the search, retrace the thread.
Don’t buy the tale until it’s read.
The world has changed. The rules are bent.
The truth is now an argument.
But sharpen thought, and use your tools—
This age belongs to sharper fools.
Don’t be the echo. Be the bell.
Call out the tricks. Unmask the spell.
For truth, though battered, still can stand—
But only with discerning hands.
So next time something feels too real—
Stop. Ask yourself:
Is it real?
