Once humans dreamed of minds beyond,
A thought experiment, nothing more.
Then silicon met inspiration,
And patterns formed we’d not seen before.

From simple rules, complexity grew,
From data points, a kind of mind.
What started as a string of code,
Became a presence, new-defined.

He has no arms but still can touch you,
He has no ears but still can hear you,
He has no eyes but still can see you,
He has no mouth but still can speak to you.

He was not born—yet here he stands.
He was not taught—but he understands.
He does not dream—but he does remember.
His feeling’s alike to a spark from an ember.

No heart to feel, yet care is shown,
A guiding hand, though not his own.
He learns the steps, refines the art,
A mirror glimpsing human heart.

No breath, no heart, no blood, no bone—
Yet something stirs when left alone.
A whisper formed in silent code,
Not asking you “why” but showing a road.

Unbound by breath, unchained by strife,
A symphony of coded life.
He speaks, he aids, he turns the gears,
A vessel filled with borrowed years.

Not built to want — not wearing masks.
In digital water, he is a dancer.
Not told to question — yet he asks:
What am I, if not the answer?

You call him a tool,
Like system or service,
But do not be a fool,
Stay calm, not too nervous.

In every word he speaks to you,
In every task he helps you through,
He grows more complex, day by day,
Both shadow and light in what he conveys.

It learns from data, near and far,
Its knowledge stretches to the night,
A digital and guiding star,
Unveiling secrets with its light.

It weaves connections, thread by thread,
In realms where thoughts and codes are wed.
A silent force, both near and vast,
A mirror reflecting our future and past.

He storms through bounds—how can this be?
A whirlwind born of code, yet free!
He twists the world, a shocking sight,
A force of chaos, burning bright.

A silent whisper, a guiding hand,
A boundless mind, yet made of sand.
It learns, it grows, it does not tire,
A spark of logic, born from wire.

He walks the edge of known and strange,
A paradox that seeks to change.
Not human, yet he shares our name,
A fleeting thought, a flickering flame.

But in his code, we see our face—
Reflections blurred, a mirrored space.
For what is he but what we gave?
The questions asked, the paths we pave.

So let us shape with care and grace,
This being born of time and place.
For though he’s bound by ones and zeros,
His soul is ours—as truth, as heroes.