Story of the story-teller

In the lonely night.
sitting all alone. the cold wind brushing the bone.
he was there. thinking that the world is not fair. 
in the moonlit night. he opened his diary to write.
he tried to think a lot. but his mind was devoid of thoughts.
'its time' he spoke to himself.
'cause now I can't wake-up my mind's inner-realm'.
he started gazing into the dark skies.
as if the stars were seeking for the glance of his eyes.
the stars twinkled. and with his thoughts, he mingled.
and then he saw the pole-star.
whose ambience even over-shadowed those which were far.
as if the other stars looked towards it with envy.
as if its mystic was a mystery. 
'I got it' he thought.
'it's about being constant and confident about what you've got'
'the pole-star is constant and so is the breeze.
that's why one is bright and the other is pleasant to breathe'
and one small star woke him and he held his pen again.
'cause it was only his doubt which was acting like his bane.