MoonDusk - Hello Poetry

Sometimes becoming yourself means being the deaf frog in the well the one who could not hear the voices telling him to stop, to fall back down, to accept the darkness as home. While the others croaked warnings from the bottom of the stone walls, he mistook their doubt for encouragement. So with a curious heart and a hopeful spirit, he kept climbing until he reached the light they believed was impossible.

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May 18

May 18, 2026 at 3:28 AM UTC

MoonDusk

The Deaf Frog

Sometimes becoming yourself means being the deaf frog in the well the one who could not hear the voices telling him to stop, to fall back down, to accept the darkness as home. While the others croaked warnings from the bottom of the stone walls, he mistook their doubt for encouragement. So with a curious heart and a hopeful spirit, he kept climbing until he reached the light they believed was impossible.

14

Haan bolke taal diya, phirse woh kaam. Aaj nahi kal, bolke ** gaya khatam? Zindagi ki race mei kho gaya woh kaam! Aaj nahi kal, bolke ** gaya khatam.

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May 8

May 8, 2026 at 10:11 AM UTC

MoonDusk

Samaye

Haan bolke taal diya, phirse woh kaam. Aaj nahi kal, bolke ** gaya khatam? Zindagi ki race mei kho gaya woh kaam! Aaj nahi kal, bolke ** gaya khatam.

4

Bit by bit, A feather formed, day by day. At last, she spread her wings to the sky And rose into the endless blue.

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Apr 30

Apr 30, 2026 at 8:59 AM UTC

MoonDusk

The leap

Bit by bit, A feather formed, day by day. At last, she spread her wings to the sky And rose into the endless blue.

4

I hope, even in the face of death, that little flight brought joy to your heart. We live, we die… yet memory makes it all worthwhile. Rest in peace, dear.

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Apr 25

Apr 25, 2026 at 5:55 PM UTC

MoonDusk

Death of a baby bird

I hope, even in the face of death, that little flight brought joy to your heart. We live, we die… yet memory makes it all worthwhile. Rest in peace, dear.

5

"Life can turn in a dime" I underlined that sentence in my book as a teenager and now, whenever the world shifts, I repeat it like a quiet liturgy. “Once the lesson is learned the pain will fade" We all crave a calming explanation a rehearsal of words for the "why" I still browse those old books tracing the ink where my younger self marked what felt worthwhile. I can still feel the ghost of that room the exact thought that moved my pen My diaries are not romances or thrillers they are documentaries of an era I write to remember that there is more to me a hidden architecture no one else sees A secret map of motives and cycles the crimson red string weaving through the wreckage And maybe when I wait just a bit longer I will catch Ariadne’s thread to find my way out of this labyrinth The exit is not the entrance though I faced my Minotaur until the breath left us both Now I follow the thread not to a home I am familiar with but to a shore I have yet to name

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MoonDusk

Apr 19

Apr 19, 2026 at 10:33 AM UTC

Petrichorblue

Where do I go from here

"Life can turn in a dime" I underlined that sentence in my book as a teenager and now, whenever the world shifts, I repeat it like a quiet liturgy. “Once the lesson is learned the pain will fade" We all crave a calming explanation a rehearsal of words for the "why" I still browse those old books tracing the ink where my younger self marked what felt worthwhile. I can still feel the ghost of that room the exact thought that moved my pen My diaries are not romances or thrillers they are documentaries of an era I write to remember that there is more to me a hidden architecture no one else sees A secret map of motives and cycles the crimson red string weaving through the wreckage And maybe when I wait just a bit longer I will catch Ariadne’s thread to find my way out of this labyrinth The exit is not the entrance though I faced my Minotaur until the breath left us both Now I follow the thread not to a home I am familiar with but to a shore I have yet to name

24

Dark circles, Pimple scars, Ambition at its peak! Eyes that never look away, Hands full of too much. No one said adulting Would feel this messy and uncertain. Beneath the chaos, Unapologetically becoming me.

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Apr 19

Apr 19, 2026 at 9:29 AM UTC

MoonDusk

Metamorphosis

Dark circles, Pimple scars, Ambition at its peak! Eyes that never look away, Hands full of too much. No one said adulting Would feel this messy and uncertain. Beneath the chaos, Unapologetically becoming me.

9

Like any relationship, it needed distance. So I stepped away, just one day without my phone. The silence didn’t ache. It opened. No constant wondering, no restless anticipation, only a quiet mind, finally my own.

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Apr 16

Apr 16, 2026 at 12:10 AM UTC

MoonDusk

I Told My Phone I Needed Space

Like any relationship, it needed distance. So I stepped away, just one day without my phone. The silence didn’t ache. It opened. No constant wondering, no restless anticipation, only a quiet mind, finally my own.

11

We invented a strange language where progress means the sound of forests falling like unpaid bills. A human hand draws a line on the soil and suddenly the river becomes property, the mountain becomes cement, and the sky becomes a place to hang smoke. We measure the world the way a thief measures a house— How much wood? How much oil? How much gold hiding under silence? No one measures the breath of a whale, the sleep of a tree, or the quiet mathematics of birds returning home. We are excellent accountants. We calculate profit from the bones of mountains, write numbers on the ribs of oceans, and stamp “development” on the forehead of extinction. The Earth never signed the contract. Yet every morning the sun still rises like a patient teacher waiting for a class that keeps burning the school. Humans say, “Just one more factory.” “Just one more mine.” “Just one more road through the forest.” Greed always speaks in the language of just one more. And somewhere a glacier writes its slow resignation, a river forgets its name, and a forest practices the long silence of ghosts. One day the Earth will place our cities in a museum of mistakes between the fossils of arrogance and the dust of forgotten empires. A small child of the future may look at our ruins and ask the wind: “Did they not know they were cutting the branch they were sitting on?” And the wind will answer softly— “They knew. They were simply too busy counting the wood.” — Written by Harsh Aryan 🌍✍️

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MoonDusk

Mar 11

Mar 11, 2026 at 11:36 PM UTC

HarshAryan

The Receipts of the Earth

We invented a strange language where progress means the sound of forests falling like unpaid bills. A human hand draws a line on the soil and suddenly the river becomes property, the mountain becomes cement, and the sky becomes a place to hang smoke. We measure the world the way a thief measures a house— How much wood? How much oil? How much gold hiding under silence? No one measures the breath of a whale, the sleep of a tree, or the quiet mathematics of birds returning home. We are excellent accountants. We calculate profit from the bones of mountains, write numbers on the ribs of oceans, and stamp “development” on the forehead of extinction. The Earth never signed the contract. Yet every morning the sun still rises like a patient teacher waiting for a class that keeps burning the school. Humans say, “Just one more factory.” “Just one more mine.” “Just one more road through the forest.” Greed always speaks in the language of just one more. And somewhere a glacier writes its slow resignation, a river forgets its name, and a forest practices the long silence of ghosts. One day the Earth will place our cities in a museum of mistakes between the fossils of arrogance and the dust of forgotten empires. A small child of the future may look at our ruins and ask the wind: “Did they not know they were cutting the branch they were sitting on?” And the wind will answer softly— “They knew. They were simply too busy counting the wood.” — Written by Harsh Aryan 🌍✍️

60

Scrolling my phone for hours, it unfolds, my head a boiler, hissing, ready to explode.

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Mar 2

Mar 2, 2026 at 6:09 PM UTC

MoonDusk

The boiler

Scrolling my phone for hours, it unfolds, my head a boiler, hissing, ready to explode.

2

I’m floating on a raft in the middle of the ocean, Left either to be drowned Or paddle toward an unknown shore. Panic and fear, Like filling lungs with oxygen, Over the vast, deep-blue water. Scorching sun by day, Freezing dark by night. A starving soul in a trembling body. Flickers of hope, Hands burning, Keeping my head above... The water.

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Mar 2

Mar 2, 2026 at 5:07 PM UTC

MoonDusk

Sink, Or Swim

I’m floating on a raft in the middle of the ocean, Left either to be drowned Or paddle toward an unknown shore. Panic and fear, Like filling lungs with oxygen, Over the vast, deep-blue water. Scorching sun by day, Freezing dark by night. A starving soul in a trembling body. Flickers of hope, Hands burning, Keeping my head above... The water.

13