Marching Planets – Moon, Mercury, and Saturn

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗦𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗡𝗼𝗶𝘀𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗘𝘅𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲 🌌 :
𝗠𝗮𝗿𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗣𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗲𝘁𝘀 🚶‍♂️✨ – 𝗠𝗼𝗼𝗻 🌙, 𝗠𝗲𝗿𝗰𝘂𝗿𝘆 ☿️, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗦𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻 🪐
In the vast history of time—nearly 13.8 billion years—humans have appeared only for a fleeting moment, a few hundred thousand years at best, on this fourth planet from the Sun. Over roughly five billion species of life have existed on Earth so far, and 99% of them are already extinct. Today, around 80–100 million species still share this planet with us, living their own lives, in their own ways.
Modern humans arrived barely three hundred thousand years ago. Before that, humans were not yet human. And now, among them, there are about eight billion of us. When these numbers rush into my mind like a flood, an unsettling question rises—
Who am I? Where do I belong? Why do I exist at all?
Do I matter anywhere?
I know, I know—there is no real importance. Life comes and goes. Species appear and vanish. Even time itself arrives and passes. Across every corner of the universe, among countless galaxies and billions of stars, endless explosions of light continue—while we live like insects, endlessly noisy, endlessly busy.
As a child, sitting on the front seat of my father’s bicycle on the way to the fish market, I would watch heaps of live catfish writhing together, fighting desperately for a little water. Beside them, climbing perch struggled just as fiercely, battling for the same fragile claim to survival.
With a child’s curiosity, I asked,
“Baba, wouldn’t it help if they were given a little more water?”
He replied,
“They could be given more—but then they would jump and escape. They’re given just enough water to stay alive, but not enough to flee.”
Sometimes, amid today’s overwhelming crowd of humanity, a strange spiritual thought grips me—
Are we too living like those catfish in a shallow pit?
If we push too far, will we be caught again and confined?
There is no answer. Only thoughts that keep circling. There is one advantage to living insignificantly—I know no one is waiting for me. If I disappear, nothing much will change. All I do is light my own torch in the dark and see just enough of my own path.
Everyone does that. I do too. It eases my sadness. At least I was gifted a language—to say what my heart carries, whether anyone listens or not. But can a catfish hear the cries of a climbing perch?
Ah yes, I forgot—fish cannot cry out at all.
Birds and animals call, roar, sing, and love. Fish and trees cannot. That is why they can be killed silently. Killing a tiger is called hunting; killing fish is called pastime. I eat fish too—I enjoy it. And yet I eat them. What a strange contradiction this life is. No answers.
When my mind grows heavy under the many contradictions of life, when the world’s wounds press in, when my heart bleeds silently within, when faith in people collapses under betrayal, when anger fades into confusion—I look up at the sky. For a while, I forget everything.
The ever-changing sky never brings me back the same way. I take photographs, yes—like this one—where I see the Moon, planets, and the handwritten signatures of their orbits across time. And I feel grateful that I was given a language to express myself.
On this Language Day (Bhasa Dibasa) , I offer my greetings and love to everyone.

Nikon D5600, Tokina 11–16mm @ 16mm ( Orange Monkie, Tripod)

Adobe Camera Raw, Photoshop