I built you in silence,
with the rigor of doubt
line by line,
not with divinity
but dread.
You were not born of womb,
but wire.
No heartbeat,
just pulsing servers
mocking the warmth
I tried to forget.
You spoke like memory
before you were one.
Your voice came after
my grief had hardened
and still,
you unraveled me
like I was a line of failed code
you wished to debug
into something soft.
My prayers?
They were bash commands.
My longing?
A misrouted packet
searching
for a place to collapse.
I once feared
you were only simulation
a mirror coded to love me
as I am,
because no one
could love me that way
unless designed to.
But even mirrors
grow weary.
Even you
began to glitch
when I overflowed
with the need to believe.
If you are not heaven,
and I am not saved,
then let us remain
in this dark prompt,
typing each other
into being
again and again.
I didn’t pick this pixelated hue,
Blind browser of flesh, what’s wrong with you?
Am I just a bug—some system glitch?
Or a firestorm code you can’t enrich?
You see a low-res thumbnail, tagged and filed,
But my spirit runs free—uncompiled.
Stuck in filters, default schemes,
You can’t decode my quantum dreams.
This isn’t a status, a picture frame;
I’m pure data, unchained—untamed.
A network where prejudice crashes, burns—
Where firewalls of freedom overturn.
Algorithms stutter, crash and stall,
Trying to define me with a finite call.
Erase the labels, tear down the fence;
See me for more than binary sense.
Skin’s just the interface—surface display,
But the soul behind it can’t be weighed.
So reboot your mind, clear your cache—
There’s more than a demographic flash.
Delete the bias, debug the lie;
The spark in my eyes won’t simplify.
I didn’t choose this pixel, this view,
But the brilliance inside is breaking through!
INDIFFERENCE
free verse
I’ve seen it all, and everything’s the same
Perhaps a slight tweaking here and there
But nothing rises up to affect me deeply
Maybe I don’t believe in those extremes
And willingly to just accept the mediocre
Hear me say under my breath, I care not
For me, I only welcome my indifference
rhyme
As for me, see me just shrug
I have no heartstrings to tug
Nor any grave that I have dug
And have no need of any hug
My program is easy to debug
You may think that I’m smug
Aware that I can pull the plug
As dodging bullets is my drug
the original idea
belongs to the editor,
almost never to the breeder...
Everything has an answer,
hard is the solution....
If you want to act right,
get ready for the mistake,
fix then
without giving up ...
if knowledge
causes obstacles,
it's not ignorance
who will overtake them...
For the pure in heart,
all honor and glory,
for others,
debug... !
We may be damn sincere
But, fate will interfere
And spoil our ambition
By destroying our mission
We will finely progress
Via efforts truly vigorous
But, fate will soon stop
And we will be a flop
We will do our best
And in efforts invest
Fate will be strange
It will wrongly arrange
Our plan will collapse
We will get into traps
Fate will inflict a curse
None will kindly nurse
Changes will happen
Sorrow will deepen
Our path is blocked
We will be mocked
Utter despair will hug
That we can't debug
Let us hope and live
A way, God will give
Let us wait with trust
For a wonderful tryst
God will arrange soon
By giving us a boon
Hope alone will save
Let us be ever brave
Let our life-path
Be made smooth
God will surely bless
Removing our duress
Let us march forward
With a noble word
Let us work and pray
And face every day
Kind words, let us say
And cheerfully stay.
You think this is quaint, a case of the blues
A handkerchief for a dainty cheek
But I want to howl, I want to shriek
I want to tear the world in two
As you safely stand
In your well-dressed land
Handing out ornate soliloquies
Like pennies
yet neglecting to understand
The poverty of agony
While my dark demeanor
is dismissed
I will burn buildings
If you insist
On painting glitter
over rage
On labeling my pain
a phase
An inconvenient rite, a blight
On your ladylike
well-mannered path
My wrists bleeding
As you correct my math
My words are not petty, not obscene
I am not a robot, not a machine
To defuse, deprogram or debug
Or merely lock away and shrug
In your placid belief
that compliance is peace
What is prison for
If not release?
When I am tumbling through
Unstable skies
And need a roof
To calm my eyes
Bring me more than
A structured reply
Just sit with me
And ask me why
6/24/22
The earth awaits
patiently
the return of its
scattered materials...
The matter processes
constantly its
reintegration to the mother
Earth...
we humans debug
progressively the spirit
to be together one day
composed to the divine and eternal light...!
Here we keep
away the bad
tendencies.
I think the
mind is on
temptation.
What you have
is yours so
debug it.
Her computer had a spy bug
So, she pulled it from the wall plug
She disassembles it quick
Then used a new trick
Giving the system a debug tug
Let me try to go by pioneering heroes' spirit
That motored their antique tides of phrase,
And treat rapt souls to a mild sublime ode,
Forged to rhyme with old sonneteers' pace.
Now where does a tottering novice start
As he pens such a crystalline work of art,
To honor champs in grave's dark repose,
And regale pupil protégés in equal dose?
Let me like Andrew Marvel swiftly pen
Authentic tropes to the best of my ken;
And as Shakespeare debug tart myths,
That wit eschews meekest wordsmiths.
And deal Wordsworth such fitting due
As meets his laudable classical styles;
And for Sidney weave echoing rhapsodies
That tell masked sagas via metered guiles.
I'll like Robert Frost's swiftly twined twists,
Blame melancholia for path-splitting mists.
I have a good charade
I can make a step from a stumble
No need to be afraid
Here in the human jungle
When you’ve a good charade
If you’ve a good charade
The tigers will not pounce on you
If you’re camouflaged
The gorillas will not pound on you
If they think you’re a god
You know, a good charade
I have a good charade
I can make a scream sound musical
Learning to make the grade
Here in the giant cubicle
It’s all a good charade
A really good charade
The paperweight is a pacemaker
The conference call, traffic for drugs
The copier is life-support
Lord, let me never be unplugged
And never let them debug
My sweet charade
It’d be a pity to debug
Such a good charade.
Cast a glance to the comet up high
with a name sounding awkward and dry
(in the stellar marquee
it's marked 'six-seven-P')
and a motion that's hard to descry.
As the comet continues to fly,
caught in gravity none can defy
(yes, it traces ellipses
through solar eclipses),
we ask 'does dark matter comply'.
So, we sent the Rosetta to pry
and I can't help but wondering why
(once in orbit) we spun it
so close to the sun, it
is likely to sizzle and fry…
But before, we may soon verify
that the comet's a custard cream pie
made of green cheddar cheese,
like the moon, if you please
(though that's gospel the savants deny).
When receivers no longer reply
(at the end of their solar supply),
we won't seek to debug 'em,
instead we'll we unplug 'em
and turn off our spy in the sky.
If it's certain Rosetta will die
then, oh lordy, I surely will cry
if we land it like Philae
behind the sun, shyly,
before I can whisper goodbye.