What is coding, but thought made real?
A world unseen, behind the steel.
Lines and loops in silent might,
A dance of logic, day and night.
What is a coder, but one who dares
To speak in tongues that no one shares?
A builder born from minds alone,
Who writes in words of stone and code.
A language vast, a shifting tide,
From front to back, from deep inside.
Each syntax sings a different song,
Each update rights, or makes things wrong.
Some cheer its rise with bright delight,
While others curse the broken night.
For every tool that makes things fast,
Leaves some behind, stuck in the past.
The programmer, so often still,
Fights silent wars of sheer will.
A battle fought in nested lines,
Through endless bugs and undefined.
The error strikes without a face,
It hides within an unknown place.
And though the cause remains obscure,
The search begins, relentless, pure.
With AI’s hand or peer beside,
They walk the code, they seek, they guide.
But even then, no end’s assured,
Some scripts survive, some aren’t endured.
The phrase “I don’t know how this works”
Becomes a charm for deeper quirks.
And “Don’t touch this” or “Don’t delete”
Marks sacred lines none dare to beat.
They build from chaos, out of sight,
They fix, they patch, they chase the light.
They smile when things align just right,
And curse the bugs that haunt the night.
It’s joy and pain in every breath,
A love affair that flirts with death.
They hate the red that breaks the flow,
Yet love the peace when all systems go.
Some call it madness, some call it art,
To code is to break and restart.
To craft what’s real from thought alone,
To find a world within the known.
A unique fight, a secret creed,
A hunger fed by every need.
And though they fall, they rise once more
For coders build what wasn’t before.