The Odyssey

The Odyssey

It took Odysseus ten years to return to Ithaca.
Not because the sea was too wide,
but because the heart can forget its own home.

The Cyclops, crashing storms, the rage of Poseidon,
The great dangers were never the greatest delays.

A flower was.
The lotus asked for nothing.
Only this:
“Rest. Forget. There is nowhere you need to go.”
And memory fell asleep.

Circe did not imprison him with chains.
She offered warmth, food, companionship.
A year passed as quietly as an afternoon.

Then, when Ithaca was almost visible,
the bag of winds was opened.
Not by an enemy—
but by curiosity, carelessness and loss of vigilance.

Later, hunger overcame wisdom.
The cattle of the Sun were slaughtered.
One forgotten moment can erase
years of patient travel.

Calypso offered what every mortal
imagines they want—
beauty, love, and immortality.
Seven years disappeared on an island that looked like paradise.
Not every prison has walls.
Some are built from comfort.

But perhaps
the journey truly changed
when he heard his own story
sung by another.
He wept.
To hear one’s own life spoken aloud
is to awaken from it.
Later, he told the story himself.
The tale became remembrance.
Remembrance became direction.
Direction became home.

Perhaps we are all sailing
toward an Ithaca.
Not across oceans,
but through desire, comfort, and forgetfulness.
The monsters rarely defeat us.
More often,
we simply stop remembering
where we were going.

The path asks us to remember.
Homecoming is in every moment
we remember our values, purpose, and home base
and take a meaningful step, albeit small.


— Dosti Regmi