Poetry

Human Drones; Our Artificial Life?

Most of us walk, we talk, we move, we breath the air around us. We think freely our own thoughts, we make decisions, but are they our own?

We are flesh, muscles, bone and blood. Hot blooded creatures, this red liquid moving around our bodies even as we sleep.

We grow, we feel pain, we feel emotions everyday. We are here on an earth, masters over all the creatures. We are kings and queens in this jungle built from clay.

If we slip, if we fall, if our mind begins to fail, we malfunction in ways our body or mind cannot comprehend, how can we even ever repair?

Like a robot to humans chips are used, metal, bolts and nails even computer programmes to fix and repair. Are we “humans” robots to another race? Are we repaired with drugs, needles, medical supplies and even computer programmes and metal, bolts, nails? 

Are we advanced robots sent here to evolve and populate the earth? Are we created by a master as some kind of game or experiment?

Are we test subjects in this lab called earth, purgatory the waiting space and heaven the operating room we go to be fully restored now the experiment is done? Hell for the rejects, the non repairable, the ones who ignored the commands, with heaven for the good, the saveable , those who tried to obey the commands. Life on Earth the testing arena of our maker/s.

The surge in non human life beings, sights too of things beyond human reach. It is our master’s race checking on the subjects? Or is it just indeed a game. Us the players them the officials over seeing everything that is done. 

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