Sarositara☾ @sarositara - Tumblr Blog

Perhaps this is life – a constant choreography of falling and rising, each stumble birthing a new ascent. The magic lies not in the avoidance of the fall but in the resolve to rise again, no matter how many times we crumble. Creation, in all its forms – poetry, stories, films – hums with a quiet defiance, whispering to me, "Why concern yourself with the grand question of purpose, when the world itself is art, waiting to be lived?" The sheer brilliance of imagination, the way thoughts unravel into something so rich and vivid, makes me wonder why I ever bothered to search for meaning when it dances before me, elusive yet ever-present.

I want to be everything at once, to embrace it all – to fly, to float, to sing, to dance, to fall in love and watch the heart fracture, only to see it heal again, stronger each time. This world, both enchanting and terrifying, beckons me to experience it in its entirety. Life, with all its unpredictable shifts, won’t end as we imagine – we simply grow around the grief until it becomes a tiny constellation, one star among millions, and we, like the night sky, expand around it.

I won’t waste time lingering over the things I’ve fabricated in my mind, the versions of people I’ve sculpted, only to find they’re reflections of what I wanted them to be. I set myself free. I cast off the weight that tethered me, and now I rise, lighter, unbound. Moving on isn’t surrender – it’s a quiet act of self-preservation, a dance with the inevitable.

After all, we don’t love people. We love the stories we create about them.

And isn’t that the most human thing of all? To let go, and rise again.

-Sarositara

#indian aesthetic #indian poetry #longing #sarositara #dark poetry #immortal longings #love quotes #poems and poetry #poets on tumblr #the tortured poets department

When the Moon becomes You // ft.pages left hidden in my journal

I want to speak,

to spill the silences I’ve swallowed whole—

the shadows of myself I never dared name,

the cracks in my skin where the secrets festered,

untold fears clinging to the marrow of my bones.

I want to tell you why I am this way,

why my heart beats heavy in the dark,

why the weight of my own reflection

has always been too much to bear.

Why did I wait so long to show you

the jagged edges of me,

fearing your gaze would make them bleed?

I wanted to speak then,

when you were so invested,

when your hands reached for me

as if they could piece together the parts

I refused to touch.

But you turned away

at the first sign of my insecurities,

as though they were a thing too ugly to bear,

too raw, too unkempt to stand beside you.

And I wonder—did you ever see me

or only the mask I wore,

the fragments of someone I wanted you to love?

I want to ask you—

about your childhood,

those untold stories hiding behind baby photos,

the ones your mother still laughs at,

the ones she keeps as sacred

and mocks in the same breath.

What did it feel like to love

before the world broke your heart?

When did you first feel that pull,

the strange, heavy pull of protection,

for someone you would keep safe

even when your own soul was in danger?

How many hearts did you break,

learning to love,

learning to stand on fragile ground

without falling into pieces yourself?

I want to know about your first kiss,

the first crash of passion and consequence,

and the first time you looked at the moon

and felt the universe stretch

in the silence between your breath

and the sky’s endless eyes.

I want to know you,

your friends, your world,

the ones you love without question,

without needing to explain

why they fill the spaces in your chest.

I want to love what you love

because you love it so fiercely,

to be a shadow in your life,

unnoticed yet essential.

I want to learn how you found your passion,

how the quiet hum of photography

became your language of truth.

And why, oh why,

did you speak to me,

when you knew—

you knew—

you would never love me back?

Why do I see you in the moonlight,

when I know you never meant to own me,

never meant to claim the space

where my soul used to rest?

I want to understand,

to know why you possess me—

without touch, without love—

and yet, I am bound to you,

to the shadows you left behind.

I worship the moon now,

as though it can fill the hollow

where your hands once cupped my heart.

But I am left with echoes,

and a restless yearning

for a love that was never meant for me.

I wake up every morning feeling like an unfinished poem, a tangle of mismatched verses spilling out of me, too raw for order, too wild for rhyme. Sometimes I think of him like a glass cabinet in an antique shop—something to admire, to dream of, but never to possess. He stands there, calm as the ocean before a storm, while I rage and twist, trying to bottle the wind inside me. I touch the glass sometimes, fingers lingering on the edge, wanting to feel the smooth surface of something untouchable. But I step back because people like me—people who live in extremes—can’t handle that kind of fragile beauty. I would break it. I would shatter it just by trying to hold on too tight.

There’s a bitter satisfaction in knowing that. In admitting that I don’t really want to claim him or anyone, because they aren't for me. I am too much for anyone. Too much chaos, too much depth, too much fire in my bones. I wear my intensity like armor, scaring people away before they even understand the tenderness hiding beneath. But it’s fine. I know what I am. I’ve stopped looking for balance. Balance is a myth sold to the world by people who don’t know what it’s like to burn.

People like him—they float through life on a different frequency. They want peace, while I crave every jagged edge, every spike of adrenaline, every deep cut that reminds me I’m alive. I can’t hate him for it. How could I? He’s a gentleman in a world of wolves, a calm in a storm that I wish I could rest in, but I can’t. I’m not built for stillness. I am the storm. I am the chaos. I destroy what I love, and I love the destruction.

Maybe that’s why I romanticize the idea of death, of belonging somewhere for once—finally, completely. Maybe it’s not that I want to die, but that I want an ending. A sea to drown in, a place where my river finally stops. But even then, I know I’ll just keep flowing. Maybe life isn’t about endings at all, not the happily-ever-after, not the final destination. Maybe it’s about the art we make along the way—the people we turn into poems, the pain we turn into prose, the loves we turn into tragedies.

But I don’t want to turn him into a tragedy. He’s too peaceful for that. He doesn’t belong in my storm. So I’ll admire him, like I admire everything I can’t touch. I’ll keep writing, keep creating, keep turning my brokenness into something beautiful, because that’s what I do. I take the things that people are afraid to feel, the dark places they avoid, and I make them art. I don’t need love to do that. I don’t need him.

I just need the space to burn. To live in my extremes, unapologetically, fully. I know who I am now, even if it scares everyone else.

- sarositara

Being 24/7 slyvia plath

#indian aesthetic #indian poetry #longing #sarositara #dark poetry #immortal longings #poems and poetry #love quotes #the tortured poets department #poets on tumblr #dead poets society #slyvia plath #english literature #dark academia #indian dark academia #desi academia #unrequited love #this is what makes us girls #Spotify

A Prayer in my Blood // sarositara - a devotion that borders on madness🌙🖤

Sitting in the ward

with patients breathing their shallow stories,

the wind swirls cold against my skin,

petrichor drenching my lungs,

as if rain has settled in my alveoli.

You, so far away,

stand in the middle of the street,

With your 70-200mm lens-ed heavy camera,

turning life into scenes,

but not heavier than the weight

inside my chest.

How do I miss the arms

that never once held me?

Crave the lips

that never sought my skin?

I let these feelings sink into my veins,

like rust, they sediment in my blood,

circulating like a sickness,

each cell pricked by the pain

of not having you—

a wound you never cared to see.

You never cared to know

the paths my blood chose to travel,

how it carried you,

how it fell for the ache

of loving you without return,

how the pulse in my chest

stayed steady for you,

even as it shattered.

My thoughts spiral in the dark,

inked onto these pages,

but never once without touching

the heart that has almost forgotten

its own name—

it says yours, like a prayer.

Oh, the glorification—

this devotion I never asked for.

I never wanted this,

but my atoms—

my very atoms—

have started loving yours.

I hope one day

you'll understand the depth

of this yearning,

just by touching my skin,

which will burn under your divine touch,

a heat more tender than the lens you hold,

more sharp than the needle

I carry in my hand.

#indian aesthetic #indian poetry #longing #sarositara #dark poetry #immortal longings #anime and manga #poems and poetry #poets on tumblr #love quotes #the tortured poets department #desi academia #desi aesthetic #desi dark academia #dead poets society

Don't get too close, I'll turn you into poetry // enter at your own risk. Ft. The moon of my life!

There was something electric in that fleeting view-

The bare, chiseled neck; the navy vest -clung to you

Biceps sculpted, just below below the Adam's line,

There's the moon locket, hanging proud, oh so divine.

I felt a bang - a quiet jealousy for the way

It lay, so effortlessly, where I could not

But that frame touched something that it couldn't reach

And my soul cried pleasure, discovering beneath-

The peppered mole, a hidden mark, delicate and small,

Above your heart - a secret constellation

I've never meant to find.

A detail that felt almost too intimate

For eyes that weren't meant to linger there!

To you, it's nothing - a moment passed with ease,

But to me, it's the kind of pull that brings me to my knees.

Carrying the glimpse long after it had passed,

Etching it deeper with each return,

Untill you became more than just a memory!

When it plays,

"வேர்வை துளி முகத்தில் வைர கற்கள்

அழகை கூற தமிழில் இல்லை சொற்கள்

மீசை முடி கரிய அருகம் புற்கள்

தாவி மெல்ல கடிக்க ஏங்கும் பற்கள்"

I felt that😩🖤🌜

Haemorrhage of the heart // things left unsaid ft.Journal pages

I would write his name in every cell,

A constellation mapped across my skin—

Give him the moon, the stars,

Whatever this world dare not grant me.

Oh, how the mind balks at such thoughts,

So delusional, so fevered, yet still—

I hold onto the ache like an ancient song,

A hymn carved into bones, waiting.

He says, “Go forward, unlatch the door,”

But he does not know

He left the lock broken,

My heart emptied and left ajar,

Swaying in the dark winds of devotion,

Each pulse a plea he’ll never hear.

Obsession? No, this is prayer,

A soul bent and bowed, head low to the earth,

The ache is endless, a quiet madness

Spilling through each brittle dawn.

And he, unaware of the altar I built,

Of the relics I keep in hidden journals,

Believes I will mend, fill my days with quiet tasks

That bear no trace of him—how naïve.

I have tried to hate, tried to pull back

Each ragged edge of longing,

But my heart rebels, my mind refuses.

How could I despise a name

That opens like a wound and blooms?

How could I scorn what’s carved

So deeply, with the precision of a blade,

Through the sinews of my own ghost?

Oh, I would shatter gladly if he willed it,

Burn as a fallen star, a silent offering.

This love is not gentle, not kind,

But a fierce, tender violence—

That I could turn against myself

For his shadow,

That I could cherish this breaking

As proof of a bond that cuts to the marrow.

How much dam can one soul hold?

How much ache must bleed before it quiets?

He, the walking poem, lives unfazed,

But I am undone, endless, infinite—

Bound in threads woven of blood and stardust,

And still, my hands reach, though I know not

If they will ever touch him again.

I'm the girl no one noticed,

a shadow stitched in the corners of rooms,

never the moon, only the dust

that glows faintly in the echo of her light.

I could carry the weight of worlds

tangled in the soft sigh of my lungs,

but the air presses down so heavy,

too thick to breathe, too thin to drown in.

The universe, blind to girls like me,

no magic ever cast my way, no spell ever found.

I'm not the heroine,

just a simple girl, selfish in her quiet,

a seeker of solitude,

softened by the sharpness of little things—

and I hate myself for it.

For the rules I broke to feel,

for the lines I crossed to melt

at the mundane sweetness

that should’ve left me cold.

I loved too easily, broke too quick,

and for what? For no one, not a soul,

would dare love a star

when the moon hangs heavy in the sky,

glowing like a secret,

too bright to see the small light I offer.

No one would ever choose me,

even as I stood with love,

a storm strong enough to tear heaven apart.

No one hears my screams or sees my tears,

all hidden beneath the mask I wear,

a mask of nonchalance

that cracks with every breath,

but still—no one notices.

A mere star,

while the moon sings,

blazing with her magic,

and I, alone, fade into the night.

Where the Wild Roses Wither 🖤🥀

Why did you come into my life

Just to make me believe in love?

Then left like love was never mine to hold,

A shadow that slipped through my fingers,

Leaving nothing but dust and drought

Where flowers once bloomed.

Sometimes, I wonder—

Is love a thing for someone like me,

A cynic, too idealistic for this brittle world?

I opened my heart, let it breathe

In the arms of another,

Only to find myself a barren land

With no seed, no water, no rain.

I've cried myself to sleep,

In the quiet, in the dark,

Where no one can reach me,

A frequency too high, too strange,

For anyone to meet me there.

All I’ve known is being walked over,

A doormat for broken souls,

A rebound, a fleeting desire—

Lusted after, used, discarded

Like promises made of smoke,

Trust shattered like stained glass.

And yet, my heart still aches for love—

Compassion, kindness—

Things I've never truly held by.

Maybe I was born in the wrong world.

Maybe love is a language I’ll only learn

Through the pages of a book,

Through songs that make me weep

For something I’ll never touch.

Maybe love is a dream I can’t wake from,

A feeling only real in the silence

Between the notes of a song.

But still, my heart yearns,

And still, I wait for something

I may never find.

"Fractured pieces" 💙🌊❄️

Something within me fractured,

Not with a scream, but a soft implosion—

The kind that leaves the world unknowing,

A quite haemorrhage beneath the skin,

An invisible bleed that mars the soul.

Your lips, which I once longed to kiss,

Became the blades of truth,

Cutting through the illusions I wove so carefully,

Turning my desires to dust,

Scattered in the wind like the ashes of forgotten dreams.

Your gaze, blazing with the passionate fire,

Met mine with the coldness of cosmic voids,

And I, drowning in the icy steans of your indifference,

Clung to the memory of warmth,

Not realizing it was a lie, a mirage, a fever dream.

I thought your hands meant for solace,

Could cradle my trembling heart,

But they pushed, pushed until I fell,

Tumbling through the dark void,

With nothing but the echo of your laughter,

To keep me company in the abyss.

Those evenings, where every touch was a spark,

I imagined we were gods,

You, the air that filled my lungs,

Me, the earth beneath your feet—

But it was only a storm you conjured,

Leaving me soaked, shivering, and alone.

You held me, oh how you held me—

And in your arms, I dared to hope,

Thinking your eyes harbored something profound,

A depth I could drown in willingly.

But I was wrong, wasn’t I?

You were shallow as a puddle,

Reflecting only the surface,

While I searched for oceans.

How foolish I was,

To mistake your fleeting glances for connection,

My kindness, an open door you walked through,

Only to leave it ajar,

Letting the cold wind rush in,

Reminding me of the emptiness you left behind.

- Sarositara ✨

I placed stars in places you’d never think to look,

Left fragments of the moon along your path,

Offered pieces of something deeper than skin,

But the question hung between us: "Who asked you?"

I gathered my flaws in quiet corners,

Let my doubts fall like dust in the light,

Yet somehow, your gaze passed through me—

Like a figure in the background,

Fading while someone else shined.

And I wonder, if the edges of me were softer,

Would you have held on tighter?

If I mirrored a beauty you recognized,

Would your eyes have lingered a moment longer?

What was it that I missed

In the way I unfolded myself before you?

You speak of love like a well-learned verse,

Of how small things are meant to be seen,

Yet mine—

They drift like echoes in a room too large to hear,

Gathering dust in forgotten spaces.

You ask for something, but it’s never this,

It’s never here—

Always reaching for a shape

That doesn’t wear my skin,

Leaving me to wonder

When I stopped feeling like enough.

I stand here, a breath away,

But you’ve long been looking elsewhere,

While I offer constellations,

And all you leave me with

Is the emptiness of a quiet sky.

-Sitara ✨

Maybe in another lifetime, huh?!

Like I desire you soooo much that I wanna born again, like AGAIN enduring all the damn things in the world, just for someone, just to be together with them, just to meet them again, just in case... Likeeee isn't that lovely???, willing to go through another different shade of unknown, clueless and scary life for someone and I don't know what's more deeper way to express the one sided love more than this fr😭😭🖤🪄

#maybe in another life #maybe in another universe #reincarnation #indian poetry #sarositara #indian aesthetic #longing #dark poetry #immortal longings #lifetime #love quotes #words #poems and poetry #dead poets society #deep thoughts #one sided love #poets on tumblr #the tortured poets society #the tortured poets department

With every falling droplets on the earth

Merging with the ground, sinking deeply

I wish my dehydrated roots never felt dry

All those what ifs haunting me steeply

The smell of petrichor hit the nostrils

I watch it ease away the moments missed

Echoes of a past that we can't confess

The rain's embrace, a bittersweet kiss

- Rain scented regrets // between the pages of my lost journal!

I could burn for you while you don't even know my name!

But when I lay on the ground

Like the dormant seeds

He poured on me like rain

Now I'm growing chrysanthemum tree

Blooming at every verses I'm reciting

For that I'll be forever grateful!

But when i lay on the ground

Like the dormant seeds.

He poured on me like rain!

Now I'm growing chrysanthemums

Blooming at every verses I'm reciting

For that I'll be forever grateful!

-Sitara ✨

Maybe you were supposed to pass away my sky

Like the shooting star fulfilling my wishes

Reminding me what's the so called self love made off.

When i mistook you for the constant moon,

You changed the story left me with the agony

Abandoning me with my dirty ink stained hands!

And I couldn't stop writing about you ever since!

- sitara

#sarositara #indian aesthetic #indian poetry #longing #dark poetry #immortal longings #love poem #love quotes #poems and poetry #words #saudade #spilled thoughts #spilledink #poems on tumblr #poets on tumblr #the moon #ramblings #rambles

Maybe this is how it feels Stabbed by a giant needle Bleeding but growing a red rose Mighty souls might've took it well, But what about the fragile ones? Why do they always have to feel alienated?

How can I move on when I didn't even had him in the first place all the what ifs haunting me deciphering all the possibilities of us screaming right at me "only if you could wait a little bit longer" Little did he know I could wait for years little did he know he gave me so much to write about that it feels like one lifetime isn't enough!

I could feel it in his eyes tired,exhausted,detached from all the things that gave him happiness lost in the process of finding he seems to be content finding it in himself!

Love, the strange word with lots of definition Yet none could describe it Weird whatever we do for love we do out of love still we don't know what's love no guarantee no surety yet we still fell for its purity It drives the world like an exhaustible fuel!