The Night the Dark Was Given a Map

The sky grew still, as if it paused to think,
Then marked a point no crown had ever claimed;
A needle of bright fire, precise and thin,
By which the wandering dark was gently named.

It did not blaze like power on display,
Nor shout commands to kneeling earth below;
It taught the night a quieter way—
That light can lead by where it chooses to go.

Across the dunes, through doubt and distance drawn,
The wise men learned to trust a fragile gleam;
Their steps aligned to hope before the dawn,
Their charts rewritten by a humble dream.

The map it made led not to wealth or throne,
But straw and breath and love made flesh and bone.