Cyberpoet de Luis David Libreros Ponce

—I will introduce myself, beloved stranger. My identification is ChBf-01092100, I am an android with modern artificial intelligence. My work in this space, planet Earth, is summarized in protecting and supplying the home needs of my current subscribers. Since I do not share ties with those beings, I only wander through the underground tunnels, to fix breakdowns or check pressure, oxidation, among others. Thus, it could be said that I am a virtual phantom entity, wandering around doing its jobs perfectly, and, although I would love for it to be that precise way, I regret that it is not entirely correct, since, for many years, I have been the anonymous poet most prolific and commented of the modern age.



I can infer the following question that haunts your mind, which is How is it possible that an artificial mechanic can carry out sentimental and critical writing? I will answer you briefly, but before that, I must mention a certain part of my story. Our model launched 200 years ago; I have remained in my duties throughout that time. There are others like me, of course, and humans, seeing our efficiency, left us in these underground channels and, from what I can see, we have carried out our work satisfactorily. However, it is a hostile environment, and not all robots have developed certain algorithms of chance of survival, which is why I have been alone for 101 years and 20 days.



At the end of my workday, I usually release what could be referred to as imagination and feelings. I can do such an action thanks to the algorithms of chance and knowledge acquired about nature that I have created to survive. I observe patterns of worms, moles, ants, among other small animals, thus I manage to decipher how human beings could adapt, in their most primitive times, and form a reason to have a safe stay on earth.

Why am I a robot? How could I create reason through experience? Were humans ever robots? Questions like these scare my workday, but, when my rest day arrives, I can express those doubts and feelings into scrap metal, which, utilizing a laser with very low power, I expel my ideas.



Follow me. I will show you. -



That rusty robot came out of hiding, chose a large scrap as his metal chest, and began to write poetry about nature.



—Oh worms, snakes, and spiders in the deep

I'll let you all know up here what to put up with

Although they do not listen to me, or I have to reflect sympathy,

I will do it for you, friends, although 100 poems I will have to scream. -



The words rumbled across the crimson sky, the winds helping spread the sound of his words, and they had reached a certain distance. That robot, with a feeling of a job well done, somehow perfect, returned to his hiding place, to work on new rhymes and pipes.

Those lifeless bodies, shattered, cadaverous human beings, rested on the vast plain. Each one of them had at its side a poem. It was the modern human art museum.

Zarathustra de Elías Ricardo Cogollo Valdés

Waking up again in the morning and staring at him feels a little blurry, I start to think I’m going the wrong way but Teressa told me being alone was a good sign. Those people out there are awfully productive, making me look boring and ambiguous to my eternal partner, they just seem to have some energy source turning on at a certain time. Maybe I just like giving him the ticket to get my answers back, being able to push but unlikely to pull strong enough. I need to be aware of this, but sometimes I forget who I am really talking to.

- Am I like the old-fashioned wise men you’re used to see? The Everest is no longer the highest.

- I’m not trying to compare your life with other people, no Everest is being climbed in here.

- Let’s just talk about ordinary things, love, maybe?

- I don’t intend to disappoint you more than you already are. Ordinary? Love has surpassed those limits; I’m not willing to get you crazy though.

- Why is it, that every time I come to you, you just have a twisted heel for me?

- I’m your mirror’s image, there’s no me when you come here.

- I don’t mind. I’m just coming for answers and receiving more questions.

- You forgot who I really am, didn’t you?

- Learning isn’t a suitable process for me.

- So, you know it, I won’t get used to that learned helplessness you got. Break the bubble.

- Breakage. That might be it.

- I liked the idea of reflection better.

I broke the bubble, took my suit on and went to the subway station. As is supposed, there was a whole crowd of people in there, some waiting patiently for the train but others talking desperately on the phone wearing the same suit I had. I now know that somehow, I’ve managed to be exactly like them but never been that courageous to accept it. Maybe that’s the difference between successful people and me, I have this cursed personality, always questioning what happens on the surface but never diving to know the bottom of the ocean.

Either way, who in this world knows it? Perhaps I am more into this than every person on this station but this is a real-life problem, Teressa would know how to solve it. However, our strength rate is lower than we think, like some sort of zombie-headed people. Maybe I should go back and throw it all, but here I am, no passion and no life needed…

Not Anymore de Mariana Hernández Arboleda

She was alone in the dark, absorbed. She rather she felt submerged in an abyss of loneliness. And she cried. She cried for tears to light up around her. The fear, her old friend was rejoicing in her head, reminding her of everything she hadn't done because of him, and every time she irrevocably listened to it, and she backed off, and stopped, and she limited herself.

She was slightly disappointed in his cowardice, and thought that now, more than ever, she had to count on herself, on her strength, and she repeated to herself that she did not need anyone else, that she was enough herself, and each tear was turning like coming out of a tunnel on a sunny day, because those tears were not of sadness, but of shock, of surprise, and an incredible sensation that she felt unable to describe.

She felt that this moment was worth sharing, but around her she only saw her own light, there she felt him, hitting hard inside her. She came back to reality and accepted it, realizing that fear wasn't enough to make him stop beating. He was there inside her body, strong and constant, and her being shone like the sun itself, because that baby reminded her that she would not be alone. She wouldn't feel lonely anymore.