After he escaped the fangs of the colonists
he thought he is the prince of the futurists.
Self acclaimed glorious path
to enthrone his name on the globe.
But he missed the signs,
the signs of conversion
into what they wanted him to be.
A robot of the first world design
tasked with his master’s concern.
His heritage enslaved,
pride shaved,
wealth coveted,
health perverted…
Oh! He is a decorated toy saddled in mistletoes and olives.
Of new age of hope
and grand stage to cope;
He is promised an utopian bay.
And he succumbed to beliefs
thinking this will bring reliefs.
Then his masters bought him a strong wine called religion
getting him intoxicated with creeds in legion.
And impoverished not by choice
he spoke with a dump voice.
Like a 4-D animation brand
he is a character in his own land.
Updated and upgraded,
his softcore suits his masters.
He is the next face of development,
He is Afrobot.

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