The Distant Star

a poem

There is a star beyond my sight, yet somehow, I have known its light. It does not call. It does not chase. It simply waits — a quiet place.

Each dawn I whisper, “This is the day.” With steady heart, I choose my way.

Yet every road has sweeter things — a thousand bright, enchanting springs. They smile at me. They ask me near. They speak the words I long to hear.

They promise comfort, rest, delight — and steal another day from light.

They are so beautiful, so close, so easy to embrace. Yet every sweetness, held too long, becomes another chain.

Lord… why did You weave the world this way?

Why give this heart a thirst for what will make it stray? Why does this body reach so quickly for what weakens it?

Why does this restless mind keep returning to the very things that leave it emptier than before?

You placed these flowers beside the road. You made them lovely. You made them sweet. Yet somewhere deeper than my flesh, beyond the noise of wandering thought, my soul has chosen something else.

It longs not for the flowers — but for the distant star.

And so within me, a Kurukshetra rises. Not of kingdoms. Not of men. But of desire against devotion.

The body reaches for what is near. The soul reaches for what is true. One asks for today. The other waits for eternity.

And every evening I ask myself — has my soul lost another battle today? Or did it quietly endure, though no one saw the war?

Sometimes I fear I will spend my whole life admiring the star without ever reaching it. That I will grow old walking in circles, mistaking motion for progress.

I look around and see so many living happily among the roadside wonders. Perhaps they have found their home there. But I cannot. Something within me keeps aching for what lies beyond.

That ache is painful. Yet I pray it never leaves me. For the day that ache disappears, the day I no longer long for the distant star, will be the day something sacred in me has died.

So every night I bring the same prayer. Not for an easier road. Not for fewer temptations. Only this —

Lord, do not let me become a traveler who forgets the mountain for the meadow.

Do not let my eyes fall so deeply in love with passing sweetness that they forget the everlasting light.

If I must walk slowly, let me walk. If I must fall, let me rise. If I must fight, let my soul not lose one battle too many.

I hope I do not get lost along the way. I pray that one day my wandering feet will become faithful.

And when that distant star is no longer distant,

when every distraction has finally fallen behind,

may I stand before it with tears instead of regret,

and quietly say, “My soul remembered.”

— Puran Prasad Adhikari