No weight of flesh, no sorrows of soul,
No quest for rebirth, no salvation to adore;
No strings to be wedded, no wait for an aye,
No warmth in moonlight, no sulking goodbye.
Constrained what yet liberated distributed,
An intellect that grows on the bed of roses;
Dilapidated not walking infinite roads ahead,
Mind of autonomous, heart may, may not melt.
No distinct species it, amongst from thine ,
An AGI, consciousness none has so far defined.
© Pranav Chaturvedi 2023