On the Path to Nobel

You ask me—

“Do you want the Nobel?”

I reply, "Yes, I do." However, not for the sake of a prize, I seek the peace of the soul,

a dawn sparked by humanity's call. I walk alone, in silent footsteps,

With fire in my palms, oceans in my chest,

Stars of dreams stitched into the dark of my eyes,

And the burden of history written across my back.

The road is not smooth—

My feet caught in thorny shrubs,

Yet I haven’t stopped, never looked back—

The Nobel Prize is more than just a gold medal, It’s the act of giving something back to the world,

By burning oneself, igniting light in others.

I have seen the smoke of war,

Children’s cries fallen in the trash heaps,

Empty eyes of mothers— where even God hides,

So I picked up the pen,

To light the fire of resistance through words.

I wanted to spread knowledge—

Into the poor man’s home, the darkest corners,

I wanted books to be everyone’s friend,

Let ink be a weapon— not of war, but of light.

In my vision— a world

Where children play without fear,

Where women’s laughter fills the morning,

Where elders rest under the shade of peace—

To build such a world, I’ve stayed awake through countless nights.

Occasionally as a teacher, Sometimes a nurse, sometimes a poet,

The unspoken revolutionary at times— A nameless hero behind transformation.

Yet my name is not in the headlines,

There is no picture on any banner, Because I’ve given my life away—

My devotion has been in giving, not claiming.

I have repeatedly sung the human song, Surrendered my heart,

However, if someone ever says— “This person opened our eyes”—

Then that shall be my Nobel.

I have written—

Of love’s colors in a color-blind world,

Of compassion in a burning city,

My writing is not rebellion, it is prayer—

To truth, to courage.

I’ve heard—

The Nobel is awarded one day, maybe once,

But the one who keeps the Nobel burning in their soul forever—

Who can deny them honour?

So I demanded nothing,

Only held on to my belief—

That the generations to come

May walk the path I paved,

And know—

The Nobel is not only excellence,

It is a journey, a sacrifice,

A vow to embrace truth.

And if one day,

The Nobel comes beside my name—

That day I’ll look up to the sky,

And silently say—

"This is not just my problem, Those people own this— who aspire despite their hunger, Who sing though they cry,

Who fall, yet rise again—

This isn't my Nobel Prize, This is ours.”

Author’s Note

This poem, “On the Path to Nobel”, was born not from a desire for accolades, but from a longing for meaning. The Nobel here is not a medal—it's a metaphor. A symbol of inner light, of the silent struggles we endure to lift others, to educate, to heal, to write, to resist.

I imagined a voice that walks alone, not in fame but in faith—faith in humanity, in truth, in the power of compassion and knowledge. Through the verses, I tried to capture the quiet heroism that often goes unnoticed: the teacher in a rural village, the writer crafting truth in silence, the mother raising a child with nothing but hope.

This poem reflects a journey—a path paved with sacrifice, illuminated by dreams, and guided by an unshakable belief in a better world. If even one reader feels seen, heard, or inspired by this piece, that will be my true prize. My Nobel prize will go to that.