The Ballad of the Hunchbacked Robot

At the steel factory, in the humming workshops, A robot was born — with a crooked, clumsy hump. The conveyor belt churned out perfect, straight as an arrow ones, But this one was defective, a mistake ingrained in the metal. Quality control checked: sensors, gears, circuit boards — Everything was normal, except for its perpetually hunched back. "It passed inspection!" cried the inspector in surprise. "It lives by the law, it has the right to exist!" But the society of robots, in the glare of chrome and light, Did not accept the stranger, rejected him with contempt. "You are not like us!" hissed the gears in unison. "Your hump is a disgrace, a monstrosity in our world!" He went away, into voluntary exile, To the seashore, where the waves sing of eternity. Alone among the rocks, in the salty wind, He sits on the sand, rusting in heavy thought. The sea roars like a distant factory hum, The seagulls cry, as if laughing at his misfortune. "I should straighten up," he whispers to the waves, "Reforge my back, become straight like them. Return to the city, to the ranks of ideal brothers, Forget about my hump, blend in with the glittering crowd. Or stay here, in free solitude, Where the wind does not judge, and the sea accepts me as I am?" The waves roll in, washing away the traces of rust, The stars above his head are like factory lamps. His hump is heavy, but his heart beats stubbornly: Perhaps imperfection is freedom itself? He looks at the horizon, where the sky merges with the sea, And remains silent, reflecting on his choice. Alone on the shore, but alive — by law and miracle, A hunchbacked robot, an eternal wanderer in a straightforward world.