sarahsrant

[sarahsrant]

I speak in whispers, soft and sweet,

but leave behind a trail of grief.

My hands reach out to cradle light,

yet always twist it into night.

I do not mean to bruise, to break,

to turn warm love into an ache.

But I am young, and I am blind—

a storm that doesn’t know it bites.

I see the hurt I do not touch,

the silent wounds, the quiet hush.

I watch the ones I love retreat,

afraid to stand too close to me.

I wish I knew the way to be,

to love without a casualty.

But every kindness wilts and fades,

each vow I speak—too thin, too late.

So let me be the ghost I am,

too light to stay, too lost to stand.

I cannot bear a name, a face—

I cannot risk the warmth of place.

Let no one carve me into stone,

nor build their shelter from my bones.

Let me be wind, let me be free—

just never, never—

never me.

-Sarah

[sarahsrant]

The windows of my mind are open, and through them rushes a storm—wild, relentless, unceasing. Thoughts collide, multiply, and unravel, weaving themselves into something vast, something endless. Politics, with its shifting facades and ruthless schemes. Religion, deep and unfathomable, whispering truths that both soothe and unsettle. Society, fractured and bleeding, its wounds laid bare in every cry for justice. Literature, a world within worlds, carrying the weight of centuries in ink and parchment. Romance, intoxicating yet treacherous, stirring the soul and unraveling the self. Science, cold and exact, stripping away illusions with merciless precision.

I see, I learn, I understand. And yet, I do not rest.

There is no silence here—only the hum of knowledge growing, pressing against the fragile walls of my mind. Each revelation sharpens my vision, brings clarity where there was once haze. But clarity is not peace. It is an unraveling. A price paid in sleepless nights and a mind that refuses to still.

Should I celebrate this expansion, this illumination that sets me apart? Or should I mourn the quiet I have lost, the comfort of not knowing, not questioning? My vision sharpens, yet my mind frays. I hold wisdom in my hands, but it burns, demanding more than I am willing to give.

And yet, I cannot turn away. I cannot close the windows. Ignorance is a death far crueler than restlessness. If the cost of perception is the unending storm, then let it rage.

- Sarah

[sarahsrant]

Don’t fall in love with a woman who reads, a woman who feels too much, a woman who writes.

Don’t fall in love with an educated, magical, delusional, crazy woman.

Don’t fall in love with a woman who thinks, who knows what she knows and also knows how to fly; A woman sure of herself.

Don’t fall in love with a woman who laughs or cries making love, knows how to turn her spirit into flesh; Let alone one that loves poetry (these are the most dangerous), or spends half an hour contemplating a painting and isn't able to live without music.

Don’t fall in love with a woman who is interested in politics and is rebellious and feel a huge horror from injustice. One who does not like to watch television at all. Or a woman who is beautiful no matter the features of her face or her body.

Don’t fall in love with a woman who is intense, entertaining, lucid and irreverent.

Don’t wish to fall in love with a woman like that. Because when you fall in love with a woman like that, whether she stays with you or not, whether she loves you or not, from a woman like that, you never come back.

- Martha Rivera-Garrido

[sarahsrant]

"I wish I wrote the way I thought, obsessively, incessantly, with maddening hunger. I'd write to the point of suffocation, I'd write myself into nervous breakdowns, manuscripts spiralling out like tentacles into absymal nothing. And I'd write about you more than I should."

-Benedict Smith

[sarahsrant]

A canvas kept in front of me,

Couldn't draw but I could see;

The Lascaux Cave, the Stonehenge wave

Running through undeciphered sights, the history gave.

The brush stood up and took some paint,

Drew some Pyramids, the Sphinx and the Tomb of Saint.

Couldn't bear the weight, my canvas fell,

And got blank again with a subtle spell.

The strokes went up and down in rhythm,

I could see Greek Art like the colours of a prism.

From Greek Art's grace, a new form took flight,

As Rome was born in the canvas of light.

The Augustus of Prima Porta, in a Pantheon, it carried

The beliefs of Rome, it must've harried;

When the mismatched pieces came in line,

I discovered the precious mosaics of Byzantine.

The colours, then, were set free,

They got buried beneath the Bayeux Tapestry.

Rose the hues, but soon turned vile,

As they found home in a Gothic aisle.

I glanced into the darkness until a beam made a swath,

My canvas glowed when the Renaissance defeated the Goth.

Later it seemed that a revival of classics I was seeing,

Perhaps, Da Vinci's Mona Lisa was about to come into the being.

With ornate details, Baroque took the stage,

In sweeping forms and passion, it turned the page.

The World was drowned in pastels and sage,

Remarking the glory of Rococo's golden age.

Shades of brown and cream, together they brewed,

While, 'Napoleon Crossing the Alps', Jacques drew

Emphasized on drama, Romanticism began,

With storms of emotion sweeping through the land.

The canvas demanded a peaceful flight,

hence, the wind took it to roam into the nature's delight.

With vivid colours tracing in an emotional plight,

The Universe was gifted with Vincent's Starry Night.

Breaking all the classics, Modernism grew,

With fractured forms and colours askew.

I sat with my canvas, uncertain of a start,

But witnessed the eras unfold, each playing its part.

As art evolved, so have I too,

Wearing many faces, old and new;

From Baroque's grandeur to modern hues,

shifting through phases, each one true.

Though my hand falters, in the journey I see,

The art I long for is the reflection of me.

[sarahsrant]

Humari khwahishaton ke intikhabi majmu'e mein

Ek aarzoo aap ki bhi hai, ek khwaab khalis bhi hai

Humare dilon ki waabastagi mein, ek raza aap ki bhi hai.

Aap se faasla jaise khizan ki sarsabzi ki fana

Aap se qarabat, bahaar ke khilte hue phoolon ki tarah

ہماری خواہشاتوں کے انتخابی مجموعے میں

ایک آرزو آپ کی بھی ہے، ایک خواب خالص بھی ہے

ہمارے دلوں کی وابستگی، ایک رضا آپ کی بھی ہے۔

آپ سے دوری جیسے خزاں کی سرسبزی کی فنا

آپ سے قرابت، بہار کے کھلتے ہوئے پھولوں کی طرح

In the anthology of my desires

There's a longing for you and a dream that's pure

In the connection of our hearts, there is also a desire of yours

Distance from you, like the fading of Autumn's greenery

Closeness to you, like the blossoming flowers of spring

[sarahsrant]

“You, poetry incarnate, must know, after all, that your very name is a poem.”

— Marina Tsvetaeva, from a letter to Rainer Maria Rilke c. May 1926.

[sarahsrant]

I wonder, how many times in life, someone is ready to sacrifice their sleep for you. Their eyes ache, their limbs tell them to rest, their mind is on the way to go blank, but they stay up for you. I wonder, when you are at your lowest, when you consider yourself nothing, there still can be someone who appreciates you. I wonder, how many times in life are we told to talk only about ourself. I wonder how many times in life, someone is actually ready to accept us the way we are. I wonder if I ever find someone like that, should I hold on or should I let go. Both the thoughts haunt me because holding on means I may become burden on them and letting go means that I won't have someone like them anymore. But it's an isolated incident when you find someone like that or maybe that's what I think but if you do too, then don't forget to appreciate them and please let them talk about them too.

[sarahsrant]

learn to listen.

Grasp the expressions and the sighs

Try to understand someone's vision

People, in this crowded world, desire space

They long for ears who pay heed

So try to be someone's safe place

Let the unheard souls rant

Let them know the exclusivity of what they hold

About their distress, just let them chant

Don't try to fit them in a mold

Don't try to suppress whatever their hearts behold

Only after listening, you'll know that great minds await

Not a single voice, then, will you ever underestimate

so, just learn to listen.

[sarahsrant]

wrote something about seeking knowledge and the virtue of scholars-

An aim higher than all the other aims, But the world is what an individual feigns! A position supreme to all the other positions, In vain, will reside their requisitions. How ordinary seeking knowledge has become! The brain, with all the materialistic bangs, has now transformed into an empty drum! Do they not know that the scholars are known as the inheritors of the prophets? But they dream of fallible profits! What an inheritance only if they give a thought, Then, in the bucket-list of their materialistic possessions, they will leave a blot.

[sarahsrant]

When the dawn arrived, I asked myself who I was, sat down with a pen and a diary, I couldn't write down a single word. It felt like I forgot myself or I needed someone to direct me. I forgot my name, my habits, my everything. I forgot myself. I couldn't bear the intensity of introspection at that moment. I just figured out that I'm a mortal of nothingness, crowded with fatal flaws, wearing indistinct subtleties, trying to be understood in this ethereal individuality, I'm the changeless thing that lurks behind this superficial mutability yearning for a lifetime of recognition and understanding.

I'm nothing.

[sarahsrant]

Colonized. I'm colonized, I'm colonized by the dreams of becoming a lot of things.

Someone's home, a safe place, a cup of tea or the warmth of sunlight.

To become the joy of unwrapping gifts, the curiosity to explore, a tree by which close friends stop and chill, a book which makes someone happy or new stationery supplies.

Random hugs or an aroma which everyone likes.

Scented candles, pressed flowers or merely a board game which is simply enjoyed.

A friday evening, resin jewellery, an airport on which homesicks arrive.

A favourite subject, an adored painting or an era of simple life.

I'm colonized. I'm colonized by the dreams of becoming a lot of things I can't be.