Upon the winds of spring’s sweet breath,
A tale is sung from birth to death.
Of virtue born in royal line,
A prince, yet more—divine design.
In Ayodhya’s halls, the echoes ring,
Of joy that made the angels sing.
A mother’s prayer, a kingdom’s cheer,
For Rama, just and brave and clear.
With bow in hand and heart so pure,
He walked the path both bright and sure.
Through forest trials, through exile’s flame,
He bore no pride, he sought no fame.
For truth he stood, for dharma fought,
Each step with sacred wisdom wrought.
Sita his strength, Lakshman his guide,
Hanuman’s love, by his side.
Today we chant with lamps aglow,
And feel the peace his stories show.
In every heart, may Rama rise—
A light that never dims nor dies.
Gautam Jha