Aim For The Stars (A Dramatic Monologue) Poem by ashok jadhav

(A dark stage. A single spotlight reveals the speaker standing on a high platform, gazing upward. A faint hum of wind and distant echoes of dreams. The speaker begins softly, as if addressing the vast night sky.)
So they told me—
"Be realistic."
As if reality were a cage,
and dreams were crimes.
They smiled when I spoke of the stars,
not with cruelty,
but with that quiet disbelief people reserve
for things they no longer dare to want.
(He lifts his hand toward the invisible sky.)
But I could never look down for long.
Something in me always tilted upward—
like the compass of the soul pointing north
to what others call impossible.
"Aim for the stars, " they said once,
and I took it literally.
Not as a metaphor,
not as comfort,
but as a challenge carved in fire.
Because if the stars are there,
why should I settle for the dust?
(He begins pacing slowly.)
Do you know what it means
to hunger for something no one else can see?
To be laughed at
for reaching beyond the visible sky?
They call it arrogance.
They call it madness.
But it is neither.
It is simply belief
in a horizon that refuses to end.
Every step I took upward
was a rebellion against gravity—
not the gravity of the earth,
but the gravity of doubt.
Voices pulling me down—
"Be careful."
"Be practical."
"Be like everyone else."
But I couldn't.
Because something in me whispered louder—
"Be more."
(He stops. Looks directly at the audience.)
Do you know what happens
when you aim for the stars?
You fall—often.
You bleed.
You lose more nights than you can count.
You watch others rest
while you wrestle with your own fear.
You feel foolish—
like a child chasing the moon
with outstretched hands.
And yet, you continue.
Because the stars do not come down to you.
You rise to them.
One climb, one wound, one breath at a time.
(He takes a deep breath.)
There were nights I wanted to give up.
Nights when the sky felt indifferent,
cold, infinite, mocking.
I'd whisper,
"Why should I try? Why me? "
And the silence would answer,
"Why not you? "
You see, the stars never promise success.
They promise distance—
and the courage to cross it.
(He kneels, exhausted, eyes still upward.)
I have failed more times
than I can remember.
Dreams cracked under the weight of living.
Plans burned to ashes in my hands.
And yet—
the ashes glowed.
And I built again.
For what is ambition,
if not the faith
to rebuild after ruin?
(Rises, voice growing stronger.)
To aim for the stars
is not to deny the ground—
it is to test how far the ground can follow.
It is to say:
I was born of earth,
but I am not bound by it.
It is to stretch,
to ache,
to fall,
and still rise—
because something within knows
it was meant to shine.
(A pause. He smiles faintly.)
People ask me now,
"Have you reached them? "
And I laugh—
because they still don't understand.
The goal was never to grasp a star.
It was to become one.
(He opens his hands as if releasing light.)
To burn with purpose.
To illuminate what's possible.
To leave a trace of light
for the next dreamer
who dares to look up
when everyone else looks down.
(Softly, with deep conviction.)
So yes—
I still aim for the stars.
Every day.
Every breath.
Because even if I never touch them,
I will have lived reaching.
And that—
that is enough.
(He looks upward once more. The stage light brightens, bathing him in a faint golden glow—as if a star has finally answered. Fade to black.)