A Cosmic Reflection on Lord Ram
In the beginning, before breath took shape,
The syllable "Ra" split space like a blade—
A hymn not spoken, but remembered
By stars before they learned to burn.
Not born of time, but sent to it,
He arrived—not merely to live—but to correct.
Ram was not a man who became a god.
He was the god who chose to be a man.
He did not slay demons.
He absorbed their poison and whispered them human.
He did not walk in exile.
The forest became a palace when he entered it.
Ravana did not fall by arrow.
He fell by listening—to a name more ancient than his rage.
Each feather in the quiver, a karma resolved.
Each step toward war, a step away from ego.
Sita was not rescued.
She returned—by will, not by fate.
She bore Agni not to prove, but to remind:
Even fire bows to truth wrapped in grace.
Ram did not cry at the shore of the sea.
The ocean cried, meeting the one
Whose silence was deeper than its waves.
And when the tale was told,
He did not rise to the heavens.
He became the wind between the verses,
The pause between chants,
The shadow in the flame.
He is not in the temple.
He is in the moment you choose dignity over pride.
He is not bound in scripture.
He is the silence that listens back.
-Gautam Jha