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POEMS ON: Artificial Intelligence Existential Rehabism Myth

Ronie Dinosaur

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ABOUT THE POEM: This poem is a declaration of survival without consolation. It is not about healing, forgiveness, or transcendence in the comforting sense. It is about remaining intact when no reward arrives. The speaker addresses an unnamed “you,” not as a lover alone, but as a composite of society, belief systems, moral hypocrisy, and personal betrayal. The voice refuses pity and refuses erasure. The opening establishes a paradox: testing does not destroy the speaker; it sharpens him. Ram, Shiva, Buddha, and Jesus are not invoked as religious idols but as archetypes of human response to suffering-endurance, transformation, renunciation, and sacrifice without rescue. The poem strips religion of comfort and keeps only its psychological cost. Faith is not adopted; it is abandoned when it fails to account for lived reality. Material deprivation appears plainly: hunger, poverty, discard. This grounds the metaphysics. The speaker is not wounded in abstraction; he is wounded in the body and in circumstance. The question “Why did you touch me yourself?” cuts deeper than accusation-it exposes asymmetrical intimacy, where access was granted without intent to stay. Love is shown as something given with responsibility, not consumption. The twenty-three years are crucial. They establish duration, not intensity. This is not a brief heartbreak but a long internal containment of pain. The line “you were shielded by me from you” reveals moral asymmetry: one person took care; the other remained untouched by consequence. The lightning metaphor rejects the popular idea that suffering teaches. Pain repeats without fairness, without narrative reward. The speaker does not claim enlightenment-only continuity. He keeps walking. Rejection by a woman is presented not as entitlement but as fact. The poem does not argue that desire must be reciprocated; it records that even after self-improvement, nothing was owed or received. This reinforces the poem’s core argument: worth does not guarantee recognition. From here, the poem pivots outward. The addressee is accused of false agency-believing they control life while being moved by invisible strings. This is not insult for shock value; it is a philosophical accusation of unconsciousness. Choice is the central moral currency of the poem. The final movement before “I have it still” resolves the conflict. The speaker withdraws from the puppet show. His heart is sealed not out of bitterness but self-preservation. He refuses surrender, refuses reshaping, refuses to trade character for acceptance. The ending assertion-loving with character and retaining it-redefines victory. Survival is not staying alive. Survival is remaining aligned.

Ronie Dinosaur Chapter 102 – Still Alive

Live in your delusion that I will die-
the more you test me,
the more I’ll become like Ram.
The more pain I swallow,
the more I’ll rise like Shiva.

The god you worship,
I left behind-Buddha-style.

It’s a game of intent-
you’ll never understand.
You’ll call the snatchers and devourers divine;
I’ll be named the one who renounces.

Don’t laugh so hard at my misfortune.
I’m still breathing-
not dead yet.

You nailed me to your cross like Jesus,
knowing exactly how this life has been.

I am still hungry, discarded, and poor.
If you never liked me at all,
why let me near you?
Why did you touch me yourself?

I locked that pain away for twenty-three years.
You broke a heart whose intent was clean-
it never friend-zoned you;
you were shielded by me from you.

You accepted those who were wise like you.
I stood, loving with nothing at all.

Lord Ram told Sita:
“Such a Kaliyug will come-
the swan will peck at bran and husk,
the crow will swallow pearls.”

They say lightning never strikes the same place twice-
but on me it falls two, three times in one cruel flash.
I rise, steady myself, keep walking-
and then it strikes two, three times again.

Even after becoming worthy,
I was still not desired by a woman.
She became someone else’s-anyone’s-
but never mine.

You are a toy yourself,
thinking you control the game.
What an idiot.

You have no choice of your own-
just drifting with the wind,
moved by whoever holds the strings.

You bow your head
and still blame someone else
for not talking to you.

When are you going to reveal
your own choice?

Why are you here?

You will always wonder who this is walking-
in style, with character.
Weight comes from alignment.

And you will never know if he was ever broken.
He will never show his heart.
When his intent was never received.

The strings you think you cut
are tangled in your own unseen hands.
I walk free of the puppet show,
heart sealed, intent untouched-
while you dance forever to a tune you blame on others.

What had to happen happened.
What is happening unfolds on its own.
What will happen will come.

But only this can be done-
so this will be done.
I will not surrender,
no matter what happens,
no matter how you insult me
in my mind again and again
whenever I think of you with love.

I am not going to change.
I loved you with character.
I have it still.

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