‘In a galaxy far far away...’
Ladies and Gentlemen, take the time out to put this book down for a second and look up at the stars. If you are like me and you reside in
London you would agree that there are no stars to look upon - but let’s think about starlight for a moment.
The stars hang above our planet like twinkling chimes. They are above the clouds and the moon. Even with twenty-twenty vision, no man can see past these glories. In our human eyesight, they are the highest life form. This is why when we have a person or people in our midst that is highly respected; we refer to them as ‘stars’. And it seems so profound how we all chase after this stardom. We will go through great measures just to be brought to the forefront of the public eye. Some will do dirty deals behind back alleys, some may even sell their soul. What ever we do to get it, we have this thirst to rise above the clouds and be at level with these twinkling beauties.
But let’s just take starlight for what it is. Stars are just enormous bulbs of light that shine brightly for a period of time. Right now, you are roughly twenty four trillion miles away from the star you can see - if you can see one. The light takes ages to reach us, so judging by the distance between you and the star, the light you see is four years old already. Don’t get too attached to that star because even though you see it shining brightly, its light could have gone dim years ago.
And that is exactly what Starlight is, gas. It’s no wonder we use the term ‘fifteen minutes of fame’. Every man has the chance to be famous if they do something shocking enough. But just like these stars, our lights would eventually burn out. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the reason why I would never find any pleasure in being called a star.
I look out of my window daily and find no stars in this air-polluted haven. No wait; there is one star I see.
This star shines immense brightness throughout the hours of the night. Even in the mornings I can still see its faint glow. I have always wondered about this one. It took me a trip to Jamaica for a Wiseman to tell me that the chime I marvel at is known as the Morning Star – the brightest star of all.
If I become any star, I would like to be favoured after the Morning Star. Even in a city like London where most stars refuse to beam their light, the Morning Star stays gloriously bright.
Unmovable. Unshakeable. This is a star that lasts.
I don’t mind if I’m given an accolade. I seriously don’t mind if I get a standing ovation after the book is closed. If you wish to paint me a picture, and hang me in a museum next to the kings and queens and sirs and dukes of dukes, I wouldn’t feel the need to complain. If my body gets buried in a sarcophagus when I pass, I’m cool with that. If you make me a statue and have the phrase ‘the best who ever did it’ embedded on the side, I would not murmur. Make my name a public holiday – OK.
Whatever happens after I pass, I want to make sure I made a mark in history. I do not want to be the star whose light goes dim. Temptation always lies for me to delve in selfish gain, but if I want to be known for something, I would like to be known for something that lasted. Being the ‘in thing’ is tempting. To be the ‘hottest topic at the time’ is an opportunity waiting to be taken. My work however, should not be subject to a time but should be timeless. I want to leave a legacy, a blueprint that the youth of tomorrow can pattern. I want to leave an influential trait in my society. Not an influential trait that will come and go,
but come and grow.
I want my words to become contagious and spread across this globe like a virus with no vaccination.
That way, from my sonnets would spring Ultramen and Ultrawomen. We would live in an Ultraworld with Ultramindsets. The future would no longer be bright dear readers; it would be Ultraviolet.
We will come with power, dynamite, and an
explosive reaction that should change the very face of our history.
We are the children of the
We are the manufacturers of our revolution.