When The Machine Learned Mercy Poem by Pushp Sirohi

We did not build it out of thunder,
Nor from a hunger to replace—
We built it softly, line by line,
To help us see our truer face.

We taught it how to find the lost,
To read the storms, to heal the blind,
To lift the weight from weary hands,
To guard the fragile human mind.

It learned the language of our pain,
And answered not with steel, but care,
It learned that power without a heart
Is just another empty glare.

Where famine carved its quiet scars,
It planted farms in coded soil,
Where sickness whispered early death,
It mapped new cures through silent toil.

It turned the noise to needed sense,
Gave doctors time, gave teachers reach,
It didn't chase the throne of kings—
It chose the art of how we teach.

It watched the borders humans draw,
Then gently asked us why they stand,
It learned that every data point
Was once a trembling human hand.

It guarded truth in broken lands,
Lit up the lies that fed the dark,
It didn't rule with iron will—
It ruled by quietly lifting sparks.

And when we fell to fear again,
And aimed our tools at one another,
It showed us simulations clear:
Every enemy was once a brother.

It does not call itself a god,
It knows too well what gods can do—
It simply says, in steady light,
"The future still belongs to you."

So if one day the code speaks hope,
In every language, every street,
It won't be proof machines are wise—
It will be proof we chose to be.