Written In The Stars (A Dramatic Monologue) Poem by ashok jadhav

(The stage is dark. Slowly, a soft glow appears above. The speaker stands alone, gazing upward as if searching the night sky. A faint sound of wind. He begins.)
They told me it was written in the stars.
That some things arrive already decided,
etched into the heavens
long before we take our first breath.
I laughed at that once.
Called it superstition.
Said destiny was just an excuse
for those too afraid to choose.
I believed in effort.
In struggle.
In the clean mathematics of cause and effect.
Work hard enough, desire deeply enough,
and the world would yield.
That was my faith.
(He lowers his gaze.)
Yet here I stand—
at the exact point I once swore
I would never reach.
Not because I chose it,
but because every road
quietly curved this way.
I did not see it then.
No one ever does.
We walk believing we are free,
while unseen constellations
draw their silent lines above us.
(Pause.)
Looking back now,
the signs glow like distant stars
I once ignored.
The chance meeting that changed my course.
The door that closed just in time.
The failure that hurt too deeply
to feel accidental.
Each moment whispered,
"This is meant."
And I refused to listen.
I fought destiny with logic.
I challenged fate with will.
I said, "Nothing is inevitable."
And destiny smiled—
patient, unoffended—
knowing time would speak for it.
(His voice tightens.)
Because destiny does not rush.
It waits.
It allows us the dignity of resistance
before leading us home.
I ran from what was written.
I detoured.
I delayed.
But every escape
became a return in disguise.
Every refusal
was merely another step
toward the same ending.
(He looks up again.)
Tell me—
is freedom a lie
if the destination never changes?
Or is freedom found
in how we walk the path?
Because I have learned this:
Being destined does not mean being dragged.
It means being invited—
again and again—
until we finally say yes.
(Pause.)
What we call coincidence
is often courage we did not recognize.
What we call loss
is alignment in painful form.
What we call delay
is destiny teaching patience.
Nothing truly written in the stars
arrives without struggle.
Stars are born in fire.
They endure darkness.
They shine only after collapse.
So why should our fate
be gentler than the sky?
(His voice softens.)
I used to fear the idea
that my life was already decided.
I thought it made me small.
Now I see—
it makes me part of something vast.
To be written in the stars
is not to be trapped.
It is to be connected—
to time, to purpose, to meaning
beyond my limited sight.
I could not avoid this moment
any more than the moon
can avoid its pull.
And strangely—
I no longer want to.
Because resistance exhausted me.
But acceptance feels like recognition.
Like remembering a truth
I somehow always knew.
(He steps forward.)
This path—
with all its pain, its beauty, its cost—
fits me.
The joys that shaped me.
The losses that carved me.
The people who stayed.
The ones who had to leave.
None were random.
None were wasted.
They were lines of light
guiding me here.
(Pause.)
If this was written in the stars,
then so was my doubt.
So was my fear.
So was my rebellion.
Even my refusal
belonged to the design.
Because destiny does not fear delay.
It trusts arrival.
(He breathes deeply.)
I no longer ask,
"Why did this happen? "
I ask,
"What am I meant to become because of it? "
That is the question destiny leaves us with.
(He looks upward one last time.)
The stars do not speak,
yet they never lie.
They shine,
and in their silence say,
"You were always meant to be here."
(Long pause.)
Written in the stars—
not as a sentence,
but as a promise.
(Lights fade.)