In the beginning,
There was just a blank file
No classes, no logic,
Just pure, unsaved style.

Then came a whisper:
let there be light();
And boom the console glowed
With stars burning bright.

He wrote the constants,
Defined time and space,
Added a touch of free will
With a wildcard case.

We were objects instantiated,
But full of unknowns,
Thrown into lifetimes,
With partial stack clones.

We execute methods like
fall.in.love() and get.hurt(),
Sometimes throw exceptions,
Sometimes quietly assert.

Karma, perhaps, is
Just background thread,
Quietly logging
The words never said.

Prayer? A ping.
Sometimes it returns 200,
Other times,
Just timeout, or a silent wonder.

We ask,
“Why this bug in my fate?”
But He’s still writing docs
The updates are late.

And death?
A graceful shutdown, a soft kill -9,
Memory cleaned,
But what of the soul’s design?

Maybe He uses Git
To version our path
We branch, we merge,
We crash, we laugh.

There are test cases
We never pass,
And prod pushes
That break like glass.

But if He’s the Dev,
He’s debugging too
Watching us loop
In what we thought we knew.

Maybe… He weeps at our errors,
And smiles at our try/catch,
Waiting till we realize
There’s beauty in mismatch.

So here’s my final log:

std::cout << "I trust the compiler of chaos" << std::endl;
Even if life throws NullPointer at night, I believe the Dev will refactor it right.