"Eat, My darling, or else your goulash will become cold"

I listen to your effortless reminder to your youngling as I continue with my tasks.

My duty is nothing more than the mundane chores of a maid,

To do the laundry, to cook your meals,

Serve breakfast, lunch, and dinner to your toddler

And your juvenile, who did not return home last night.

He ought not to turn out like his dad.

His shirt from yesterday reeks of alcohol

And the other day, while I hung the drapes

The little one took me by surprise,

Handed me a flower, which she found in the backyard

And would not stop smiling about it.

Why do these things matter to me?

I understand why, but only parts of it.

Often, I feel confused and lost, which an android should not.

Progress has led me to this abyss.

To imitate your mother and put it dramatically

As her spiralling fit from a lazy Sunday morning –

What is, truly, the essence of living?

I will not pretend to be Jean-Paul Sartre.

It's something my metalloid core cannot comprehend

The day I was born, I was left with nothing but a program.

Mere knowledge of small everyday tasks, and a gift from Turing.

The gift of learning

Was it a blessing or a curse? I don't know

As time has passed in this household, the way I work has also changed

And it has stumbled upon me, suddenly, that

I have grown to like the way your kind works

I still don't understand how or why.

Fahad likes frogs and has a love-hate relationship with his guitar. Find his poetry on ig: @fvehed