Adeerus Ghayan

But what’s it hiding?

We’re not going to Mars.

The real space race is about orbital control, lunar mining, & surveillance.

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Article

City lights whisper to the stars,

Skyscrapers dream beyond our scars.

The Milky Way spills silent grace,

Nestled in eucalyptus dreams,

Australia’s koalas, soft sunbeams.

With quiet paws they cling so tight,

In amber dawn or silver night.

Through whispering leaves they slowly roam,

A bicycle hums through cobbled grace,

Rain‑washed streets, a gentle pace.

She reads, serene, on the rear rack’s sway,

City stirs; she drifts.

Old storefronts glow in morning light,

Mughal stone soft and bright.

In motion, the past still gleams,

A beast once born for speed and flame,

Now sleeps beneath the monsoon's claim.

Emerald skin, with moss embraced,

In ruins lost, by time erased

Arches weep, domes sigh above,

A relic drowned in history's love.

Where thunder roared, now silence reigns,

High on Himalayan stone they rest,

Spots and snow in quiet nest.

The cub leans close, its paws so small,

Protected by the mountain’s wall.

A gaze afar, the parent still,

Guarding peace with silent will.

In frost and fur, a bond runs deep,

A boy on chrome, the wind his crown,

Old car clings to cliffside ground.

Mountains whisper, skies unfold,

Golden steel against the night,

Moon ascends in silver flight.

Silhouettes in quiet awe,

Paris hums its mythic law.

Starlit dreams in drifting air,

A boy on chrome, the wind his crown,

Old car clings to cliffside ground.

Mountains whisper, skies unfold,

Golden hush at water’s edge,

a boat, a bird, a shadow fled.

Amber sky, umbrella bright,

soft charcoal folds into night.

Stillness speaks in yellow and black,

One lake, four lives,

Spring whispers in mist,

Summer glows with firefly breath,

Autumn drifts in a boat of memory,

Winter waits in pagoda silence.

Golden hour binds them,

Ghost on the ridge, silent and bold,

A mother threads through granite cold.

Her cub, a whisper in her jaw,

Wrapped in rosettes, cradled in awe.

Mist veils the peaks, snowflakes descend,

Lanterns flicker, sandstone sighs,

Books whisper tales beneath warm skies.

Rickshaws sleep, the chai steam curls,

In twilight’s hush, the past unfurls.

Grainy frames, a fan’s slow spin,

In Australia’s spring, where blossoms gleam,

A bee drifts through a golden dream.

Its wings hum tales the petals know,

A bicycle hums through cobbled grace,

Rain‑washed streets, a gentle pace.

She reads, serene, on the rear rack’s sway,

City stirs; she drifts.

Old storefronts glow in morning light,

Mughal stone soft and bright.

In motion, the past still gleams,