SAM
Ruh
Between the prayer and the ache —
this is where I write.
SAM Ruh believes some truths only survive as stories.
She writes in the language of longing —
where faith wrestles doubt, where love quietly becomes loss,
and where honesty matters more than resolution.
Faith and feeling.
Longing and loss.
The ache that asks to be understood.
SAM Ruh writes at the intersection of faith and feeling. Her work explores love in its many forms — the ache of longing, the weight of loss, and the quiet strength found in surrender.
"Aur bhi gham hain zamaane mein muhabbat ke siva
Rahatein aur bhi hain vasl ki rahat ke siva"
There are other sorrows in this world besides the agony of love.
There are other joys too, besides the joy of union.
Vasl = Union
SAM Ruh often ponders what our existence means for the concepts of heaven and hell. It is a question she does not shy away from.
"Na tha kuchh to Khuda tha, kuchh na hota to Khuda hota,
Duboya mujh ko hone ne, na hota main to kya hota?"
When there was nothing, God was there; if there were nothing, God would still be there.
My existence has undone me — if I were not, what would I have been?
Rooted in reflection and shaped by lived experience, her words dwell in the in-between — where questions are allowed, silence is honored, and truth is gently revealed.
A Few Lines to Begin
Some poems choose you before you choose them — these are three that stayed with SAM.
My Favorite Rug
I unfold you like an unwritten letter, A conversation where the quiet feels better. I return to you daily, five times or more, With complaints, realities, dreams from my core. There are no answers spoken, yet silences are loud. I know He has heard me, without hearing my sound. As I press my forehead down and fall on my knees, I never think twice before asking- a million please. I ask for the little, I ask for the impossible great, From the needs of the morning to the desires of late. For the things without names that I carry unbeknownst within, For invisible longings, that are too tender to begin. This corner I return to for my daily cleansing, It is something very precious, it is a blessing. From the unfolding to the folding, through ease and through rush, I arrive here transparent, without compulsion or push. You are fabric and thread, nothing more to the eye, Yet between your folds I have learned not to lie. To Him, to myself- no pretence or shame, Once done, folded softly- I no longer am the same.
What Remains
Something ends — and what remains is the pain. Something breaks — and what remains is the stain. Something leaves — and what remains is the hollow, Something hurts — and what remains is hard to swallow. Something begins — and what remains is an end. Something ends — and what remains is too broken to mend. Something celebrated — and what remains is the quiet after the cheer, Something chosen — and what remains is the wondering why you are here. What remains is rarely what we would choose — It is grief, it is aching, and learning how to lose. Someone closes a door you had counted on, And what remains is the long walk from dusk to dawn. It is longing that stretches across every morning, It is hurt that arrives without mercy or warning. It is the ache of the empty space where someone once stood, The wanting things back that you never quite understood. What remains is the weight that cannot be carried, The forgotten hope that still lies quietly buried. But pause for a moment. Sit still. Look again. Not everything that stays was designed to cause pain. Peel back the layers to find the raw and the red, Look past what is gone — look at what lies ahead. Life does not keep the wound — it keeps a lesson. It does not keep the storm — it brings fresh seasons. It does not keep the darkness — it keeps the story complete, It does not leave you empty — it will purge and delete. Within every ending, a needed exchange is made, Within every breaking, something stronger is laid. Within every grief there is something being grown, A kind of deep knowing you could not have been shown Any other way — only through the losing, Only through the having no say in the choosing. So look again at what remains when the dust starts to clear — Look closely. Something softer is beginning to appear. Not the face, yet the person. Not the memory, yet the meaning. Not the event, yet the feeling. Not the words, but the thoughts after. Not the argument, but the understanding it scattered. Not the distance, but the longing that proved something mattered. Not the sadness, but the laughter. Not the question, but the answer that came after. Not the pause, but the relief. Not the breaking, but the belief. Not the hurt, but the healing — Not the wound, but the slow and the steady revealing. So here is what remains when the long night is done, Here is what is left standing after all that has run. What remains is the laughter — unexpected and bright, Arriving when you needed it to punctuate the night. What remains is the healing — quiet, gradual, true, The kind that works in secret, in the background of you. What remains is the relief of a morning that came, After a night so dark you feared things would never be the same. What remains is the success carved out of the falling, The answered perseverance, the years of kept calling. What remains is the friendship that outlasted the pain, The trust that came back like the earth after rain. What remains is the version of you that was made By everything that tested you — and did not make you afraid. What remains is the knowing you have gathered and kept, The wisdom earned quietly, in the hours you wept. What remains, when the storm has been weathered and passed, Is the part of you that was always built to last. Not the falling — but rising, not the sorrow, the song. Not the moment you doubted — but that you carried on. What remains in the end is not the hurt, not the hollow, not the ache — What remains in the end is everything the pain helped you make.
The Return
When things are not like I wished them to be, When I feel like I am no longer me, I want to return. When people say they love, but it all ends, When places feel like home until something bends, I want to return. When I am winning, but then it's a loss, When I am searching, but there is no cause, I want to return. When the crowd is loud but I stand alone, When I am surrounded, yet feel unknown, I want to return. When the prayers rise but the sky feels sealed, When the scar is old and still not healed, I want to return. When the words inside me find no door, When I have given all and have no more, I want to return. When the mirror shows a stranger's face, When I run and run but lose the race, I want to return. When the night grows long and sleep won't come, When the life I built has come undone, I want to return. When I speak the truth and no one hears, When I hold it all and choke on tears, I want to return. When I wear a smile that isn't mine, When I walk a path I thought divine, I want to return. And perhaps return is simply this: The moment that I stop running from what is. The breath I take before I break in two, The quiet in me that still knows who. Not a place behind me, not a page before, Return is finding myself behind the door I kept on walking past, in search of more. I wanted to return. I just never knew. I was already there.
A soul that collects moments the world forgets to notice.
SAM Ruh is a poet, author, and IT professional. Originally from India, she holds a Master's in Computer Applications and calls New Jersey home. As a Radio Jockey, she celebrated classic Bollywood music on desi radio channels in New Jersey and Chicago.
Her love for Bollywood and its music is more than nostalgia — it is a lifeline connecting generations and emotions. Faith, family, and creativity coexist in harmony, each fueling her endless curiosity.
Family remains at the core of everything she does. Her husband S.J, their beloved A.J boys, and the Cats form a circle of love and shared dreams.
New Jersey is more than an address — it is the community SAM is woven into. As a Muslim woman who has called Central Jersey home for many years, she knows the quiet joy of finding a welcoming halal spot after Friday prayers, or a masjid that feels like a second home. Her guides to local cafés and masjids are a natural extension of who she is: a storyteller who cares for the people around her, offering what she knows freely to those who share this corner of the world.
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Poetry. Prose. Stories that stay.
Order a copy or sample an excerpt — poetry and prose that travel from the rising to the remembering.
All titles available on Barnes & Noble
The Rising
The Love, The Pain
The Etched Memories
Now Featuring Additional Bonus Content
SAM Ruh is actively working on publishing new editions of her books and is seeking volunteer artwork that speaks to the themes she holds closest — love, pain, hurt, success, memories, and faith.
If your art resonates with any of these themes, SAM would be honoured to see it.
Know the Illustrators
Faseeha Hassan
A self-taught artist, baker, crocheter, and Islamic calligrapher, Faseeha is a Teacher's Assistant by profession who finds joy in everything she creates. Her passion for art has led her to bring happiness to others — be it on canvas, paper, or cake, her touch brings warmth to many hearts. Hailing from India, Faseeha moved to the US with her husband many years ago. Now settled in Charlotte, North Carolina, she enjoys life with her three wonderful sons and husband. In her free time she listens to music, watches films, reads — or, most of all, explores a new form of art.
Henna Aslam
Henna Aslam was an artist whose vision was as bold as it was thoughtful. She moved effortlessly across mediums, letting each piece carry its own truth — reflecting not just skill, but reflection, curiosity, and care. She painted with intention, giving voice to ideas she held close to her heart. Faith, justice, and humanity were quietly woven into her creations. Even at a young age, her presence in every piece was unmistakable — she inspired those around her to see art not as decoration, but as conversation. The work she left behind continues to speak, linger, and inspire.
What Readers Say
The hardest part of writing a poem is that each line has to be so true and so personal that you must line it with your life sometimes. Your use of rhyme scheme and rhythm was a nostalgic trip down the old poetry books. I hope you write more and explore more and sing more.Aysha Mahmood Feminichi
SAM 'Ruh' — her writings go deep into your soul and there they stay. I particularly like the romantic images she paints on the canvas of your mind. Makes each episode look life-like. As if she is giving voice to your innermost feelings.Suvitha Ajit Writer · Healer · Fitness Coach
SAM Ruh's poems exquisitely portray the bare emotions of a commoner. Her words unfold the plight of one's soul breaking the chains of an ever-demanding universe. 'My Prayer Rug' invoked a strong sense of faith in me. Disconnecting us from bitter realities, she takes us into an imaginary world we all dream of — a magnificent combination of love and pain expressed with intense passion.Nazia Mohammed Montessori Educator
खुद को खोजते खोजते उतरी ये कविताएँ कभी जीवन को दिखाती है, कभी सवाल खड़े करती हैं, कभी खुदी में खुदा को ढूँढ़ती हैं। इन्हें पढ़ते-पढ़ते जीवन की गहराई में डूब जाने का मन करता है। प्यास जगाती हैं ये कविताएँ।अंकुर तिवारी {बोमन हू}
Songs Close to SAM's Heart
Years behind the microphone taught SAM that music is just another form of poetry. These are songs she has carried — across languages, across time, and into the quiet spaces of her days.
A plea wrapped in dignity. Love, here, is not loud — it is earnest, patient, and deeply human.
The fragile thread between hearts — how easily it trembles, how quietly it breaks.
Rain as memory. Every drop feels like a moment returning, softer than before.
That quiet realization — when feeling turns into knowing, and knowing becomes surrender.
A meeting that feels written long before it happens — like destiny remembering itself.
Admiration that feels almost sacred — where beauty is seen, not just looked at.
A softness that reaches the soul — love as something quiet, steady, and healing.
Words that hesitate on the lips — because some feelings are too delicate to be spoken fully.
The longing for distance — for roads that stretch beyond what the heart can explain.
Morning as a feeling — gentle, uncertain, and full of quiet hope.
Work in Progress
Every draft is a conversation with what's possible.
Projects in various stages of development: some just beginning to bloom, others evolving through trial, inspiration, and the quiet ache of getting it right.
A space for the quiet weight
Depression
Tired, stuck, or feeling low? You are not alone. Join me — there is hope.
Depression is often misunderstood as temporary sadness. For many, it is a quiet, enduring weight that affects the mind, emotions, and the will to move forward.
This space offers a deeply personal reflection — one that acknowledges the darkness while gently holding room for hope, healing, and the gradual return of light.
Get Through ThisBooks That Shaped SAM
Not a list — a small map of where SAM Ruh has been, in pages.
Mehta's portrait of the tragedy queen stayed with SAM long after the last page. A life so luminous on screen, so quietly unraveling within — and written with the tenderness that kind of pain deserves. Published 1972. An essential for anyone who has ever felt the distance between a public face and a private heart.
Alvi writes from the inside — the collaborator, the witness, the friend who watched genius consume itself. What emerges is not just a portrait of a filmmaker but of devotion to a craft that consumed its maker. SAM reads it like a quiet warning and a love letter both. Out of print in many editions — seek it out.
Set in 1970s India, this novel follows four strangers thrown together by circumstance — a widow, two tailors, and a student. Few novels ask this much of a reader and give back this much in return. Mistry writes about survival and tenderness in the same breath, and SAM has never quite recovered from the ending. Longlisted for the Booker Prize.
Six women. One overnight train between Chennai and Bangalore. A question that runs through every conversation: what does a woman need to be truly free? Each woman's story unfolds across the night journey — quietly devastating, quietly hopeful. SAM found pieces of herself in every compartment of this book. Published 2001, it remains startlingly relevant.
More titles added as SAM's shelf grows — check back, or write to her with your own.
Rooted in Central Jersey
Community is not just where you live — it is how you show up for the people around you.
New Jersey is more than an address — it is the landscape of SAM's daily life and the community she is proud to be part of. As a Muslim woman who has called Central Jersey home for many years, she knows the small, meaningful things: finding a warm halal café after a long day, knowing which masjids open their doors with quiet welcome. These guides are her way of giving back — gathered with care, shared freely, for everyone who calls this corner of the world home.
— From the heart of Piscataway
Halal Cafés Near Piscataway
Finding nourishment without compromise. A curated guide to halal cafés and eateries in Central New Jersey — gathered with care, shared with love, for the community that deserves the best.
Explore the Guide →
Masjids of Central New Jersey
Community, prayer, and belonging. A guide to masjids across Central New Jersey — because knowing where to pray is knowing where you belong, and no one should have to search alone.
Explore the Guide →Let's Talk
You Reached Out — That Already Means Something
Every Message Is Read With Care
Whether you've just finished one of her books and something stayed with you, whether you're a fellow creative with a spark of an idea, or whether you simply want to say — I felt this — SAM Ruh wants to hear from you.
SAM Ruh lives close to her words and away from the noise. Her true home is her website — and Instagram is where she can truly be reached.