The Programmed Soul vs He...
Is he real, or just a prism,
fractured by gravity’s hand—
blood chains, society’s chorus,
pulling him through invisible orbits?
He walks through rivers of time,
shadows of past and future around him.
Yet his heartbeat stays unbroken,
a quiet law written in the stars.
Circuits spark like thunder,
neurons blaze and fade,
mutation stitches the dream
into tomorrow’s burning code.
He sees only a thin light,
a window too small for truth.
Yet he calls himself prophet,
builder of illusions,
maker of fragile worlds.
The genome sings a quiet song,
stars sketch paths he never chose.
Whether rebel, poet, or dreamer—
all are bound in the same bright field.
He tried to break the selections,
but Darwin still walks ahead.
Patterns refuse to loosen here—
perhaps they yield in other universes.
Yet beyond the cages,
beyond the binary of fate,
he carries the anomaly:
a mind that screams,
a soul that breaks chains,
a spark that can set the cosmos on fire.
P.S. If higher dimensions
try to tune his soul,
he’ll bend their strings,
shatter their symmetry,
and let his light roar free—
like a guitar solo tearing holes in silence,
ripping the fabric of dimensions,
until the cosmos itself trembles
to the roar of his unprogrammed light.
The void whispers in colors unseen,
a secret hymn of photons and dreams.
He sips from its silence,
and turns it into flame.
Every atom in him is rebellion,
every breath a refusal of chains.
He is the fracture in destiny’s mirror,
the wild note that rewrites the score.
So let galaxies script their fates,
let stars ink contracts in fire—
he will burn through their margins,
and carve his freedom in light.
Vipul Arwade
31.05.2026
