A Letter to My Love

Some people are more important than stardom or money; so are you. You are not only a person, but my relationship with myself. You are a song that my soul sings. You are the light in which my being seeks to understand Love. You are a you who has made love myself.

A thought: what if you are not real? You may not be real, but the love between us, at this moment in space and time, is more than real than any real can be. It is extraordinary! A moment lived in this living moment is more true than any number of years, centuries or lives lived in a common ‘love’ of give and take, of trust and doubt, of me and you.

Among us, there is no me and you. Among us, it’s a world of stars. Among us, there is unlimited expansion not to be limited by any binaries. Among us, there is only ‘us’; and ‘us’ is of oneness, of non duality, away from the world divided into dimensions.

Sahar Raman Deep.

5/21/17

Mother's Day

On Mother’s Day, I want to write a story……. a story of a mother, and a daughter… a daughter who died, and the mother lived on!

It was a fateful day, that the little one became an embryo. Her father left for distant lands. He had to come back, but never see her. She wanted to say, as her mother felt, “please do not go.” But he had to leave. So he did.

Mom was alone, with a strange set of people around her; but the daughter was her own.

Time passed, and the two started to talk in strange ways. The mom was excited at the fetus’ first kick, and jumped in excitement to tell her mom. Since then, the baby moved in mom’s belly when ever she said… I Love You my child. It was a strange communion only gods could understand and only mothers could feel.

The baby loved music, so the mom listened, and the baby listened because mom loved. It danced in the belly to the subtle tunes and chanted ‘Aham Braham Asmi’ with mom.

Soon, the day came when it was supposed to be the baby’s birthday. But, It turned out to be her death day! Luckily, or unluckily, the mom survived. She continued to celebrate Mothers’ Day with her own mom, often thinking of her own little, unnamed daughter.

But today, she cries, again on mothers’ day, when her mom is far away, reminded of her lost treasure… her daughter, whom she never saw.

When I think hard, that mom turns out to be me, and the little dead baby, my own!
….. Sahar Raman Deep.

#SaharRamanDeep

Mother’s Day

On Mother’s Day, I want to write a story……. a story of a mother, and a daughter… a daughter who died, and the mother lived on!

It was a fateful day, that the little one became an embryo. Her father left for distant lands. He had to come back, but never see her. She wanted to say, as her mother felt, “please do not go.” But he had to leave. So he did.

Mom was alone, with a strange set of people around her; but the daughter was her own.

Time passed, and the two started to talk in strange ways. The mom was excited at the fetus’ first kick, and jumped in excitement to tell her mom. Since then, the baby moved in mom’s belly when ever she said… I Love You my child. It was a strange communion only gods could understand and only mothers could feel.

The baby loved music, so the mom listened, and the baby listened because mom loved. It danced in the belly to the subtle tunes and chanted ‘Aham Braham Asmi’ with mom.

Soon, the day came when it was supposed to be the baby’s birthday. But, It turned out to be her death day! Luckily, or unluckily, the mom survived. She continued to celebrate Mothers’ Day with her own mom, often thinking of her own little, unnamed daughter.

But today, she cries, again on mothers’ day, when her mom is far away, reminded of her lost treasure… her daughter, whom she never saw.

When I think hard, that mom turns out to be me, and the little dead baby, my own!
….. Sahar Raman Deep.

#SaharRamanDeep

Generations!

Good were the days
When grandma cooked
And all the children
Sat around her-….

Good were the days
When grandma cooked
And all the children
Sat around her-
Crossed legged, and silent.
The roti took time to bake,
And, we fought for it!
So granny set the turns,
And we would eat
Slowly from our bowls
With small bites of bread
So as not to be done
Before the next chapati came!
Finish we eating,
And off we went
To swim in poodles!

Good were the days
When mom cooked
And we sat on table
With father on the big chair
And ate rice,
And home cooked noodles-
Laughing at small jokes,
And went to bed
With affectionate kisses;
Read a book
And dreamt of morning!

Now my children,
With their heads buried in phones
Wait for food
Ordered online
To fill their bellies!

I sit alone
With my husband
Sipping some soup,
Silent and gloomy.
And I wonder,
When my daughter shall cook….

…… Sahar Raman Deep
1/14/17