The verdict arrives in the very first line: the Internet "is like an addiction!" The exclamation mark makes it sound less like a thoughtful comparison than an alarm. The next line, "From reality - an escape," completes the thought with a dash that works like a door closing behind the reader. The poem's idea is simple and sharply put. The online world pulls people out of real life, and the pull is so strong that most of them stop noticing it. The poem ends on a promise that "the real change comes closer and closer."
The structure follows this argument closely. Three four-line stanzas each look at a different side of the problem, and a two-line coda answers them. The first stanza gives the diagnosis: "virtual images and animations / create confused visions in the mind." The word "visions" is stronger than it first looks, because it suggests hallucination, as if the screen puts something in the head that is not really there. The second stanza turns to content. News arrives "around the clock," and the poem refuses to make this sound useful. It stretches "from true delights to dark sufferings," a range so wide that the reader gets no resting place in between. The two lines that follow are built in parallel: "Propaganda to control people, / news to fire up the neurons." The first is political and the second biological. Between them they suggest that information works on us from two sides, steering what we think and overstimulating the nerves that do the thinking. The word "neurons" is a surprisingly clinical choice in such a plain-spoken poem, and it supports the addiction image, since addiction is something that happens in the brain.
The third stanza moves from the Internet to the people using it, and the grammar changes with it. The offline world "seems to be forgotten," a passive phrasing that has no one doing the forgetting, as though it had simply slipped away. Then the poem lets its subjects speak: "They say to themselves; that's just the way it is today." The semicolon makes an awkward pause, and the awkwardness fits. This is a shrug dressed up as an argument. The poem's quarrel is less with the technology than with this resignation, the habit of calling a dependence normal because everyone shares it.
Notice also who is missing. The poem has no "I" and no "we." It talks about "people," "many" and "they," and the speaker stands outside the crowd like a lecturer at the edge of a lecture hall. That gives the poem authority, but it also leaves an open question. Is the speaker immune, or just not saying?
Rhyme and regular rhythm do not drive this poem. In the English text we have, the lines have uneven lengths and no rhyme scheme, and the sentences read more like statements than songs. Whether the original sounded different, we cannot tell from the text alone. What does hold the poem together is repetition and contrast in its vocabulary. The words "virtual" and "true" or "real" keep facing each other. Even the news offers "true delights," a phrase that sits strangely beside "virtual images" and makes the reader wonder what counts as true online. The final couplet turns on that contrast: "But the real world, it offers more!" The "But" breaks the long run of complaint, and the odd, spoken word order ("the real world, it offers more") sounds like someone leaning across a table to say it. The closing exclamation mark echoes the opening one, so the poem is framed by two shouts, one of warning and one of invitation.
The last line is the most open. "The real change" is never explained. It could be a personal change of habit, a social turning-away from screens, or something larger. The vagueness weakens the poem a little, because it names no image of the real world to set against the Internet, no street, no face, no weather. But it also leaves the promise open for readers to fill with their own life.
The poem matters less for subtlety than for directness. Its argument is one that readers of any age will recognise, and it asks them to look up from whatever they are holding.