In the long grey corridors
they say it is over,
that screens have swallowed the ledgers
and algorithms now drink our coffee,
working through the night
so we no longer have to.
They promise that AI
will take what is repetitive,
polish every spreadsheet,
deliver answers before we ask.
Yet in this humming blue light
I wonder where we stand,
when numbers learn to speak
almost without us.
Is this an ending,
an obituary for a profession,
or a narrow bridge opening
from counting the past
to shaping the future,
from ticking boxes
to asking better questions?
I remember another storm
when the internet arrived;
many clung to paper,
called it a passing cloud.
Change never knocks politely:
it breaks routines,
uproots comfort,
asks for a courage
we never planned
in our time sheets.
So perhaps this is our chance
to value the person
behind the balance sheet,
to leave the back room,
walk to the front table
where decisions are made
and say: these numbers
also carry a voice.
Our work is not cold;
it traces human decisions,
those included and forgotten.
If AI is another mirror,
we can stay close to it,
learn its language,
question its reflections,
bend its power
towards the common good.
Let the machines calculate,
but let us decide
what truly counts,
and what the mirror
is allowed to reflect.
