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Shadow & Silence
135 pages, Paperback
Published March 12, 2026
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About the author
Ibrar Sami
2 books1 followerPoet and observer. I write from small details—an insect in motion, a passing silence, the quiet presence in the eyes of animals.
I have a habit of collecting words, phrases, and fragments from everyday life, holding on to them until they find their place in a poem.
For me, poetry begins in noticing, and grows slowly in memory.
I have a habit of collecting words, phrases, and fragments from everyday life, holding on to them until they find their place in a poem.
For me, poetry begins in noticing, and grows slowly in memory.
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Displaying 1 of 1 review
March 18, 2026
What happens when language begins to disappear?
Shadow and Silence lives in that vanishing point—where words fracture, meaning slips, and silence becomes more expressive than speech.
These poems do not guide the reader; they unsettle them. Moving through crowds, death, and the shifting tension between light and darkness, the voice in this collection is often less a speaker than an echo—something half-present, half-erased. Images break apart and reassemble, refusing to offer comfort or certainty.
Here, silence is not empty. It presses, accumulates, and listens back. And the shadow is not a passive absence of light, but a restless presence—formed by light, yet never fully belonging to it.
This is not a collection that explains itself. It resists clarity, and in doing so, creates a space where ambiguity becomes the experience itself.
Not every reader will find ease here. But those willing to remain inside its fractures may discover something rare: a language that speaks most powerfully when it almost disappears.
Shadow and Silence lives in that vanishing point—where words fracture, meaning slips, and silence becomes more expressive than speech.
These poems do not guide the reader; they unsettle them. Moving through crowds, death, and the shifting tension between light and darkness, the voice in this collection is often less a speaker than an echo—something half-present, half-erased. Images break apart and reassemble, refusing to offer comfort or certainty.
Here, silence is not empty. It presses, accumulates, and listens back. And the shadow is not a passive absence of light, but a restless presence—formed by light, yet never fully belonging to it.
This is not a collection that explains itself. It resists clarity, and in doing so, creates a space where ambiguity becomes the experience itself.
Not every reader will find ease here. But those willing to remain inside its fractures may discover something rare: a language that speaks most powerfully when it almost disappears.
Displaying 1 of 1 review