SARAH DESOUZA
Sarah Desouza lives in the sun-soaked shores of Goa, India, where she crafts relatable short stories on her Medium blog. With a passion for storytelling, Sarah aims for her narratives to leave a lasting impression, imparting valuable lessons to her readers.
Frequently infused with Christian themes and moral reflections, her tales delve into the depths of human experience. Sarah’s writing transcends abstract concepts, rendering them palpable, particularly in explorations of love and the divine.
Among her literary endeavors is the book ‘His Lingering Perfume,’ available on Amazon. For Sarah, writing is not just a hobby but a means of self-expression. She finds solace in creating worlds where beauty and perfection intertwine, only to find deeper meaning through the lens of faith in her stories.
Talking with the Moon
This is a poem I wrote based on a writing prompt wherein the writer has to write a few lines around the theme of the old Gaelic proverb “The world will end but love and music will endure!”
She was sitting at the window,
looking at the stars,
counting each one, by one
wondering how far they are…
She happened to look at the moon
which suddenly spoke to her like a sister,
The moon said, ‘What troubles you my child?’,
She smiled and replied to the moon
“I want much more than this provincial life”
The moon replied
“let me tell you that your mother,
had said something similar to me as a young girl
she also talked to me freely, so I told her
If You Wish To Be Blamed, Marry;
If you wish to be praised, Die
Did you know It takes this much courage
for the moon to be a hope for others in the sky?
Trust me I the moon, do know why,
So continue like a wildflower
to be free, to have your own meaning,
to cast a light instead of a shadow…
To desire to be remembered, and to stand out alone,
like me as a beacon of hope, to cause a stir,
And not be one in the muck, who is always rather stuck,
But be the one who paints the path ahead
with one’s own wisdom
When the whole world is drowning
in the sea of seeming confusion
(as if they too are lost in melodies
of their own choices and experiences)
Be all that you are-
because you have managed to come this far;
Be still, and know that you my friend,
are an immortal diamond of much worth in the sand…
When the young girl,
was done talking to the moon,
she looked at her phone and soon-
there was a text from her big sister Bex…
“Come to stay with me,
here in London, for eternity..
I know there in the desert,
its lonely too,
but here where I am,
There’s real hope waiting for you…”
To which she replied
“Coming sis,
coz the moon gave me some advice-
about life that I never want to miss”
Then she sent her an emoji kiss
And prayed to God in earnest
She thought this could be the start of something new
Or the dreams of the night and more writing too
Writing about what made her smile,
Writing about what blessed her life,
Writing about prosperity too
Writing about the moon and how
it thought of me and raised an eyebrow
and said to its self “Even if this world ends,
Love wins, and so will you win my child”
So keep writing the story of your life
The world will end, but love and music will endure!
Believe and you will find your way…
Sarah Desouza © 2025
When there is a will there is a way…
One day while I was sitting in my cubicle at my new office in the city of New Jersey where I was feeling a little out-of-place, I realized it was a good day to do lots of things. It was a strange sort of realization, because it was based more on a hunch and less on the element of routine. I usually was the type that got up and did things straightaway, but today the realization sort of dawned on me, and I was grateful, even in a strange sense, that it did.
I was not usually a lazy worker that did not like doing their work. I was new to the place, and I missed my home back in the countryside. While I sat there enjoying the grateful feeling, I noticed a picture on the wall. The picture said that “If there is a will there is a way” I liked this saying for some reason, and someone from the office staff had put up the beautiful light pink poster that had an ornate golden frame.
I thought about the saying, which I had heard about back in school, which was apparently four hundred years old. I happened to be an HSP with empath tendencies, so I had to do strange things to overcome some strange sort of jetlag that seemed to accompany everything I did. There was something to do that morning, and I was taking all my time, finding good enough reasons to be motivated enough to do it!
I seemed to have some sort of a photographic memory, so idioms like this stayed with me. They even gave me a strange sort of sense of direction. I felt lost at work, usually even though I was very intelligent and capable. I realized that this was a job that I might like doing, if I might find good enough reasons to do it, while putting in my best.
Suddenly reality dawned on me, and I started to type the letter that needed to be completed as requested by my boss. I noticed there were lots of typos in the original document, and I had to proofread and edit all the stuff I was asked to redo for him. I also suddenly realized that my cell phone was ringing, and it seemed to be a call from someone I met at a coffee shop recently. A guy.
“Hello,” I said,
“Hi” came back the beaming voice.
“Aren’t you that guy I met at the coffee shop the other day?” I asked, as though I didn’t know who he was.
“Yes, I’m also an artist, and those sketches you showed me the other day were remarkable,” he replied with great admiration in his voice.
“Great, I can leave work early, as it’s the weekend. Would you like to catch up?” he said again.
“Sure,” I replied with a tinge of happiness in my voice.
I got back to my desk job and prepped myself to do as much as I could as fast as I could. Given that I was going to leave early, I started to think of ways to type quickly, never mind that there was indeed a lot to do. The boss knew I was good at proofreading, so he usually entrusted me with the usual load of paperwork.
Again, I looked at the picture on the wall. I typed what I could and had completed nearly 70% of the day’s paperwork. I then, like the funny empath that I was, took a notepad that was close by and started to doodle. Given that I was a good artist, I thought about what my new date had said on the phone.
I had a black marker pen that I carried with me everywhere. I usually liked doodling, and I doodled like a 5-year-old, everywhere, on the books I read on the wall, like teeny tiny doodles, and even liked to draw fake tattoos on my hand.
I decided to draw one of the fake tattoos that I had drawn on a female friend ages ago. The tattoo was that of a cute but easy-to-recreate yacht in the middle of the sea that looked pretty cute on her, actually. She later went on to get a real ink tattoo of the same drawing with her boyfriend’s name underneath it.
I easily recreated the same drawing, and this time I wrote the text that was on the wall beneath it. The beautiful rough sketch looked resplendent with the words “When there is a will, there is a way” written so eloquently underneath.
I got back to the paperwork and completed my daily office routine, but left early as it was the weekend. I called up the guy I was supposed to be meeting, and he said he was in the vicinity. We caught up at the same coffee shop that we were so used to visiting, because of its beautiful aura and authentically Asian menu.
There he was in the restaurant, being himself, the last time I remember him. His hair was auburn, and his eyes were blue. He looked every bit the artist that “loved what they did, and hence did not really work a day in their life” I sat down opposite him at the table and noticed that he had already ordered a tall glass of mocha latte for me.
“You are new to the City of New Jersey. That’s what you told me the last time we met,” he said in one long sentence without stopping.
“Yes, and I feel like the City is giving me great vibes, but it’s taking me a while to get used to things!” I replied with an honest look on my face.
He saw the sketch I made in the notebook I got from work and was amazed.
“I think the drawing has captured the essence of the phrase very well” I think you would make a great artist too, by the way. I want to get this framed. I will put it up in my home, in my drawing room. Also, don’t feel as lost as you do in the city of New Jersey! That’s coz “When There is a Will there is a way” and you have found a friend in me as well!
That day I went home and thought about the reason for liking the 400-year-old idiom. I was the type ‘that never got around’ and I always had to start things from scratch to get them to work. I thought about the kindly artist’s words, and the fact that he simply adored my doodle, and wanted to get it framed. For now, things were going somewhere, and I had found a friend in the big city. Probably the saying was true. And if I had a will to do things, there would be a way to do them.
Sarah Desouza © 2024
WHEN LOVE AND WRITING COLLIDE
Jane Gomez was an intelligent-but-shy writer who loved hanging out at a particular cafe in the city. Here she got inspiration for writing some of her best blog articles. Apart from that, she was also the author of a book called ‘Making intuitive conversations for shy people’.
Jane was the sort that loved reading. She knew all writers did. She was shy but fiercely intelligent, and blessed with an intuitive ability to deal with all kinds of people she met in life. Her voracious reading had made her a lot smarter as a person apart from just being a good writer. Some of the books she read at that familiar old cafe in the city inspired her to write stories that people related to even more beautifully.
She was currently reading a book in the cafe. The book’s storyline, which was set in lavish Monte Carlo, was called ‘Paradise Found’. It was about a beautiful but awkward young woman who is also wealthy. This woman encounters a successful and handsome man who speaks eloquently. He is also wise and kind. Jane was hoping against hope that, like an unfulfilled prophecy, she would also have a similar encounter with someone dashing and extraordinary.
Jane Gomez was the sort of reader that let herself be carried away by the books she read. She really wanted to meet someone who had the same characteristics of the protagonist’s love interest in the book she was so taken by. While reading, she quietly sipped on her coffee, and was also trying to write a review of the book she was reading on her blog.
Jane was so busy with her thoughts that she did not notice a handsome hazel green-eyed man sit down at a table next to hers. This happened to her a lot, especially when she concentrated on her work, because she had a tendency to focus really hard. She looked up and saw that he, too, was drinking coffee, just like her.
She continued working on the blog article, while also watching the good-looking guy from the corner of her eye. She had a premonition that he too was a writer, by the way he gripped his iPad and spectacles. She could most certainly tell the writers apart from the way they made notes while reading. Jane felt that strongly for some strange reason.
However, trying to guess that he was a writer would reveal nothing unless she actually asked him. Jane usually didn’t know how to bring up the topic, without offending the good-looking yet serious man. She looked in his direction, hoping that he would look back. He did and smiled cheerfully.
Jane was happy to see the handsome man smile at her. Knowing that he seemed unoffended by her presence, she wondered how to start a conversation. She took another sip of the steaming hot coffee that tasted wonderful, without a doubt. Then she said in an audible tone, “Hello” with a melody that resounded in her voice.
The man also took a sip of the tea he was having and replied “Hello” as if to mirror her gesture. She was so focused on writing her blog article that she did not realize how handsome he really was. If he really was a writer like she thought, then he could be her dream come true. Everything from the courteous way in which he spoke to his slightly accented English seemingly gave it all away. For some reason he truly resembled the character from her book ‘Paradise Found’.
Jane found that coffee was a gift from heaven. Coffee seemed to give people inspiration to do new and exciting things. For once, it seemed like the conversation might go in a particular direction just because of the strong taste and scent of the coffee.
Jane realized suddenly that if the man was not a writer, he would probably look her in the eye and say, “No my dear, I am not a writer. I am a social activist. I like to do things to make the world a better place.”
Delicious coffee made people realize strange things and have wonderful insights. She waited and watched for him to say something. She wanted to ask him if he was a social activist, but she knew it was a stupid question. He looked like someone with a sense of purpose, a higher cause, and a lover of the finer things in life. She was confused about what to ask him.
“Do you like to read?” Jane mumbled while looking nervously excited. Jane was undoubtedly intelligent but introverted, and making small talk was hard for her. She looked at him with wide hopeful eyes, hoping for a reply.
“Yes, I love reading. I am a writer as well. My name is Ian Devine. Something tells me the same is true about you, and that I have met my match?” the man replied, smiling and pleasant. He had long brown hair and his hazel-green eyes sparkled in the light.
Jane Gomez couldn’t believe it. Maybe it was the coffee, but most of it was now gone and she would have to order another! Most writers were ‘addicted’ to coffee, and she felt it was okay to order more of the magic writing liquid because it was helping her ‘get somewhere’. It was certainly helping her to make new friends. She hoped he was going to be more than just a friend.
“I am a writer just like you are, my dear. I write… Books…” Jane replied. She said, with her eyes sparkling and with a beaming smile. “I wrote a book called making intuitive conversations for shy people’ and a lot of the introvert community think my book is well-worth a read.
“I don’t know how to explain this to you, but at first, I wondered if you were a social activist. You look like someone who believes in a higher cause. Do you write with your reader in mind about socially relevant themes? Something that could actually help someone?”
Jane was blushing now. She took a really huge gulp of coffee. Had she spoken too much, too soon? She wondered how he would react to her question. She was the intelligent sort that loved reading love stories, but she never thought about things that really mattered in the world. She did not care about his answer, she just wanted him to flash that unwitting smile and look at her like that. He was handsome and smart, too. He was the thing dreams were made of.
“Well, I am a writer who writes with all their soul. I write to my readers and not just to please myself. I base some of my writing on the wisdom of ancient proverbs from the Bible. I also write about the Law of Assumption and how thoughts become things. I wish I were a social activist or a tree hugger, but my writing is my own, and I like it to have that quality,” he replied to her question with a smile on his face.
While it was true that initially she was confused about how to get the truth out of this handsome man who sat far away from her. Now he was talking to her like he ‘was interested’. It was obvious that if he was not interested in sharing the feelings of his heart, he would not have opened up to her the way he just did.
She looked at him and said again, “I am so happy to know that you are a writer. Let me confess that I am a usually quite reserved and I am really not talented at making new friends. But you are an adorable person, I must admit, because you candidly told me a lot about you, even when you hardly know me. It’s uncommon for accomplished writers to do that.”
Ian did something a little strange. He kept his coffee cup on the table next to her hand resting on the table. And as he did this, he touched her hands, and kissed her accidentally almost. Jane was a little surprised and blushed. His perfume was wonderful. And he seemed very handsome, and she looked at him with deep longing. She wanted more coffee.
This was getting interesting…
They got away from the tiny cafe that Jane loved so much. She realized that she had found more than a friend in him. She knew somehow that taking risks almost always led to something wonderful. And she met this fantastic young man, who was also a writer, like she was. All because she opened that shy mouth of hers and spoke.
That day was really phenomenal. She had always hoped like crazy to find an intelligent, and an interesting man who would help her see the world in a different way and be all that she could be. Perhaps he was that man.
At the end of the day, again they kissed on her doorstep. Jane Gomez continued reading the book after that. Paradise Found indeed had a strange moral to learn. He was a writer, and not a social activist or a tree hugger. He said he wrote things with a conscience, because he wanted people to believe in him, and the things he wrote about. She thought about how closely he resembled the character in her book.
Then she realized that if the main characters of the book ‘Paradise Found’ really found happiness in their relationship. She wondered how they did it. She then realized that everyone in the world was on a journey of self-discovery. Like the characters in her book.
Conclusively, the paradise to be found was something exclusive to them both. Who also happened to be writers. And they both found their own happiness based on an inner journey they were writing about ever since they were born. And that inherent truth was something you could find in Monte Carlo. Or anywhere. Better believe it, Paradise is a place to be found on Earth.
Sarah Desouza © 2024
A WALK THAT LED TO LOVE…
Robert couldn’t sleep that night. He was tossing and tumbling in his little bed. He ran his fingers through his hair. Robert was thinking about her. He woke up and looked in the mirror opposite his bed, at his face. He his heart ached thinking about the last time they kissed. He remembered how she held on to him, clutching onto his arm.
They had fought on the phone the last time they were in touch with each other. Their last conversation, though a little short, explained it all.
Robert: “You know you would make a wonderful writer, but you need to be more consistent with it.”
Darla: “Thanks, Rob. It would be wonderful if you, on the other hand, would be more understanding of my efforts. It’s hard being a writer and living off the overflow.”
Robert: “I’m sorry about what happened the other day, between you and my mother, it was least expected.”
Darla: “You are a nice guy, but I wish you were nicer to her. She is a little careless with words. But you took advantage of her naivete.
Robert: “I wanted to talk to you and get her out of the picture.”
Darla: “You are so insensitive. Slams phone.”
Robert thought about their minor argument with his mother and ignored it because their relationship had nothing to do with her. He remembered how they both sat together on the beach, looking at the receding waters on the shoreline. The memory of her eyes looking into his made him feel very warm. He Robert longed for her. He longed for sleep. He couldn’t understand why he couldn’t sleep. He was guilty about their argument on the phone.
Robert decided to get dressed and take a walk. It was only 5:00 a.m. but there seemed to be no other way to make the time fly by. Robert locked the door behind him and walked into the street, wondering if his favorite cafe was open.
As he walked along the sidewalk, he felt a mysteriousness about the surrounding air. Everything seemed to take on a life of its own. Robert knew there was no one there, but as he walked along the path, he seemed to find beauty in everything. He found the cafe, but it was closed for maintenance.
Robert looked at his reflection in the cafe window and made sure his hair wasn’t too messy. He walked around, looking at the tall buildings and the trees that seemed to whisper a common sentiment that resonated with the feelings in his heart.
He walked slowly down the block. , he saw that there were countless stars. Robert wondered about the beauty of the Universe, about how small and insignificant he felt as a small creature, who was just part of the gigantic circle of life.
Robert walked and walked and found that most of the shops were closed, with the shutters pulled down. He was a night owl sometimes, someone who liked being productive even in the wee hours of the morning. Robert seemed to find solace for his aching heart, he thought of buying a cigarette to calm down his mood. But something in his heart told him not to.
Suddenly, he looked at some sort of building that looked more like a small castle. Robert couldn’t tell what it was since the streetlights close to the structure were not working. he saw that there were the words ‘St. Mary’s Chapel’ written on the signboard outside the gate.
He was wondering whether it was a good idea to enter because it had been a long time since he had entered a church. As someone who was brought up in a religious family, he rebelled and moved out because he found his parents were too autocratic for his understanding.
It had been two whole years since he had moved out, and he even had an on-again, off-again relationship with Darla, the woman he had spoken with on the phone. This was the same woman he was thinking about, was the very reason he couldn’t sleep.
He was where he was. While many would ridicule women in the habit, he had a silent respect for them. , and they usually had that motherly appearance.
Robert seriously had not been to church in ages, so he never understood religious people. However, he knew somehow, he was not forgotten by God, the maker of the Universe. Robert wondered why these women made such huge sacrifices and spent all their time serving God and serving the community. Though it was hard for him to imagine himself as a monk, he knew that without people like them in the world, society wouldn’t be the same.
Because he remembered it used to work for him before his job had taken over his life two years ago. Robert knew God would hear it, since God was a hearer of prayer. Robert prayed for direction and clarity. Robert also hoped against hope that his lover would come back because he did indeed feel something for her.
Robert walked out of the church, turning back once because he felt watched. Robert turned around, and no one was there except the altar of God and the nuns who were venerating it. Many people felt the presence of God at church like he just did. Was God watching him? Was the almighty trying to indicate something to Robert about his personal life?
Robert decided to walk back home. Walking into the Church and seeing the nuns praying seemed to have had a ‘wholesome effect’ on him. Robert felt calmer, and for some reason, he felt peaceful. Robert didn’t seem to worry that the love of his life wasn’t messaging.
Robert decided with all of his worldly wisdom about his relationship with Darla. He thought about the old saying, ‘Love is like a butterfly that is free to go where it wishes. if it came back to you, it’s yours, but if it didn’t, it was never yours in the first place.’
He felt like God knew about his relationship with Darla and the phone conversation he had with her. If God wanted, she would come back. But he wasn’t sure about their destiny. He knew that God had plans for him, and in his heart, he prayed for them to work.
Robert continued walking back the same way he came. He walked around while admiring the tall buildings, like he had done before. Again, the trees seemed to whisper a common sentiment that resonated with the feelings in his heart, something he noticed earlier too.
Robert looked up at the sky again and saw that there were countless stars. He wondered about the beauty of the Universe, about how small and insignificant he felt as a small creature, who was just part of the gigantic circle of life like he had done before. But now he also wondered about his mysterious church a few blocks away, and how it would add meaning to his life in the coming future.
He reached his apartment building and climbed up the stairs. He opened the front door of his apartment and walked into his comfy warm home. He looked at a picture on his wall which had an ornate gold frame, and the words “With God, all things are possible” which seemed to have undeniable importance.
He went back to sleep. An unusual feeling of goodness dwelled within him. who seemed to have whispered a couple of kiss emojis, and a few paragraphs about how sorry she felt about what had happened. Obviously, they were going to be together again, in spite of their recent argument.
He fell into a deep sleep while wondering whether his was part of God’s plan to understand the meaning of life. “ Darla was like a butterfly that did come back. Robert wondered
Sarah Desouza © 2024
