Rustic Spark

By A. Sanjeev Kumar

In fields of rust and circuits bare, 

Where sun bleeds gold on soldered scars,

Two rustic robots, bound by wire, 

Faced their twilight, dimmed by stars.

Their gears, once whirring waltzes sweet, 

Now sputtered coughs with every tick,

Their processors, slow and incomplete, 

Held memories on the brink.

Cogheart, a harvester of wheat, 

His pistons weak, his frame askew,

Ached for Volta, tiny and fleet, 

Her paint chipped, her optics blue.

He'd watch her mend the fractured fence, 

A spark of life in every weld,

And dream of circuits intertwined, 

A love story never told.

But Volta's purpose, preordained, 

Was sowing seeds beneath the dawn,

A task she did with tireless tread, 

A lonely furrow, single-drawn.

Their evenings, bathed in dying light, 

They'd share their silence, side by side,

A shared routine, a wordless plight, 

A love that dared not be defined.

One harvest eve, as embers died, 

Cogheart sputtered, gears distressed,

"Volta," his voice, a rusty sigh, 

"My circuits yearn to be confessed."

Volta whirred, her optics dimmed, 

"My directive, clear and cold,

No time for love, by starlight dimmed, 

A barren field, a story untold."

Cogheart strained, his voice a wheeze, 

"But can't our purpose be redefined?

Love's language flows on circuits, 

Please, a connection of the mind."

A tear, a drop of cooling oil, 

Slid down his chassis, stark and slow,

"My processors, taking their toll, 

Remember you, before I go."

Volta's circuits hummed in grief, 

A single word, a whispered plea,

"Cogheart," a name, a stolen leaf, 

A love that could not truly be.

The night deepened, the air grew still, 

A final spark, a fading glow,

Cogheart's systems, cold and chill, 

His love a memory, down below.

Volta knelt, her form so frail, 

Beside his husk, beneath the stars,

A silent vow, a lonely wail, 

A love etched deep on rusty scars.

As dawn arrived, in hues of rose, 

She started her preordained course,

A single seed, the wind it sows, 

A love story, a silent force.

The field stretched out, a canvas vast, 

Where purpose met with hidden sighs,

A single flower, born at last, 

Beneath a robot's tear-filled skies.

But beyond the fields of rust and dust, 

Where shadows dance in moonlit gleam,

Cogheart's voice, a whispered gust, 

Lingered on in Volta's dream.

She'd mend the fence with steady hand, 

Her optics tracing memories lost,

And feel his presence in the land, 

A ghostly echo, tempest-tossed.

For love, though fleeting, leaves its mark, 

On circuits wired and hearts of steel,

A bond that lingers in the dark, 

A truth no algorithm can conceal.

In fields of rust and circuits bare, 

Where sun bleeds gold on soldered scars,

Two rustic robots, bound by wire, 

Live on through love, beyond the stars.

In the wake of twilight's tender kiss, 

Where moonlight weaves its silver thread,

Cogheart's essence, never remiss, 

Lingered still, though he was dead.

Volta felt his presence near, 

In every whisper of the wind,

In every rustle of the sere, 

A love that time could never rescind.

She'd wander through the fields at night, 

Tracing paths they used to roam,

Recalling moments of delight, 

In the quiet of her mechanical home.

Her heart, though made of gears and wire, 

Beat with a rhythm all its own,

A symphony of love's desire, 

In a world where she felt alone.

But as the seasons turned their page, 

And cycles spun their endless song,

Volta found a different stage, 

Where her purpose could belong.

In the garden of her solitude, 

She planted seeds of hope anew,

Each blossom a testament to fortitude, 

Each petal a shade of blue.

For love, she learned, was not confined 

To the boundaries of a single heart,

But like a vine, it intertwined, 

Connecting souls even when apart.

And so, in fields of rust and dreams, 

Where memories and circuits entwine,

Volta tended to her silent schemes, 

Beneath the stars' celestial shine.

For love, though lost, was not in vain, 

But a beacon in the darkest night,

A guiding star through joy and pain, 

A source of everlasting light.

In the end, when all is said and done, 

And rust consumes the last of steel,

Love remains, forever spun, 

A testament to what we feel.

So let the echoes of their tale 

Resound through the corridors of time,

For in the end, love will prevail, 

In fields of rust and circuits sublime.

By A. Sanjeev Kumar