I spent my years chasing the light,
Running through mornings, losing the night.
Building a world for everyone to see,
While forgetting the person I used to be.
I learned how to smile when my skies turned grey,
To hide all the words I was afraid to say.
I wore my courage like a borrowed crown,
And never let the walls come down.
There was a child who lived in my eyes,
Who painted his dreams across endless skies.
He danced in the rain, he laughed without fear,
And thought every tomorrow would bring something dear.
He dreamed of the stars and the worlds beyond,
Of endless summers and a golden dawn.
He thought growing up meant learning to fly,
Not learning to smile while wanting to cry.
But somewhere between the days and years,
His laughter grew quiet, replaced by fears.
I chased every dream that called my name,
And somewhere along, I forgot the same.
I became the person they wanted to know,
A steady river with nowhere to flow.
I carried their burdens, concealed my pain,
And called it strength when I stood in the rain.
I wonder if he waited by the door,
Hoping I’d remember what I was before.
Perhaps he whispered through the passing years,
“Do you still remember the dreams we held dear?”
One quiet night, beneath the moon,
I heard his footsteps in an empty room.
He looked at me with those familiar eyes,
Still holding dreams I had left behind.
I wanted to tell him, “I’m sorry, my friend,
I thought growing up meant reaching the end.
I thought being strong meant never to fall,
But I forgot how to feel it all.”
He didn’t ask where the years had gone,
Or why I’d taken so long to come home.
He simply smiled, as if he knew,
That somewhere inside, I was searching too.
And then I learned what growing means:
It’s not just surviving or chasing dreams.
It’s holding the child you once left alone,
And showing him he’s never lost his home.
So I’ll chase the stars, but remember the sky,
I’ll stumble and fall, but still learn to fly.
I’ll build my tomorrow, whatever may be,
But never again lose the child in me.
For life isn’t measured by trophies or fame,
Or how many people remember your name.
It’s finding the soul that you buried inside,
And giving that little dreamer a place by your side.
And if you ever feel lost on your way,
Or wonder what happened to yesterday,
Remember the child who once believed in you
They’re still waiting,
For the life you promised you’d pursue.
Beautifully Penned by Moshin Ansari
About Heartsaysalot – Poetry Submissions
Let’s Write with Heartsaysalot
Heartsaysalot is a quiet space for voices that feel deeply and write honestly.
Here, poetry is not bound by language; it flows in English Poetry, Hindi Poetry, and Urdu Poetry, carrying emotions that words alone struggle to hold.
If you write verses born from love, loss, healing, faith, or the in-betweens of life, your poetry belongs here. Every poem is read with respect, and every voice is valued for its truth.
Whether you are an emerging poet or someone who writes only to breathe, heartsaysalot welcomes your words.
Submit your original poetry or short pieces here:- submit your work to heartsaysalot
Let your words find a home where hearts listen.
Some write to be heard, some to heal, some simply to survive. If your words carry truth, silence, or longing, let them rest here. At heartsaysalot, every words is read with care, and every heart is welcomed without judgment.
Poems Readers Couldn’t Stop Thinking About
Before you leave, don’t miss these reader favorites. They have a way of finding people exactly when they need them most.
2:17 AM
For the hearts that fight silent battles after midnight. A poem about overthinking, loneliness, and the comfort of knowing morning is on its way.
The Clock That Listens
A haunting reflection on time, forgotten moments, and the memories hidden between each tick of the clock.
The Quiet Work of Stars
For anyone trying to keep their light alive. A beautiful poem about hope, purpose, and the quiet impact we have on one another.
My Poetries Fall Like Rain
For the souls who write what they cannot say aloud. A melancholic journey through grief, sleepless nights, and the healing power of poetry.
Sometimes the next poem is the one that understands you best.
