The night sky has always held a special allure, but one memory from my childhood remains etched in my mind like a constellation. It was the 1940s, and the world was quieter, the skies clearer. I would often lie on the lawn, gazing up at the vast expanse, where shooting stars would streak across the horizon, their fleeting beauty leaving me in awe. Each meteor was a moment of magic, a celestial whisper that sparked my curiosity and wonder.
As I lay there, I couldn't help but ponder where those streaks of light would fall. Would they vanish into the earth, or perhaps dissolve into the sea? The thought of stardust settling somewhere, unseen and untouched, was both mysterious and comforting. It was as if each star carried a message, a wish, a dream, and I longed to know where they would rest.
This fascination inspired a poem I later wrote, "For the Love of Stardust." It captures the essence of those nights, the journey of the stars, and the enduring power of imagination.
For the Love of Stardust
In the quiet hours of night,
when stars begin to fall,
I chase their fleeting light,
and hear the whispers of them all.
Oh, the tales they tell of worlds afar,
of journeys through the vast unknown,
each grain a memory, a wish, a scar,
a fragment of what’s yet to be sown.
Where do you land, dear stardust,
when your fiery trail is done?
Do you rest beneath the ocean’s crust,
or hide within the morning sun?
In dreams, I’ve seen your gentle touch,
as you descend to earth below,
a sprinkle of celestial dust,
a gift from heavens, soft and slow.
And though I’ve grown and times have changed,
those childhood thoughts remain,
for in the heart, where love is strange,
a spark of stardust still sustains.
So let me hold this cherished thought,
of cosmic winds and starry rains,
for in the dust of what’s been brought,
I find the beauty of life’s refrains.
As I grew older, life's complexities overshadowed those simple joys, yet the memories remained, locked away like treasures. But reflecting on them now, I realize how those childhood musings shaped my perspective. The stardust, once a symbol of wonder, became a metaphor for the enduring power of imagination and the beauty of holding onto our deepest longings.
In the end, it's not just about the shooting stars or the wishes we make, but about the stories we weave from them. Those moments of awe and curiosity, though they may fade like stardust, leave an indelible mark on our souls, reminding us of the magic that lies just beyond our reach, yet close enough to inspire and guide us through life's journey.
