Born of the Earth, Woven in Gold
O land where the morning sun first kissed,
The peaks of Himalayas, forever in mist—
From Kashmir’s crown to Kanyakumari’s feet,
Your soul in every heart does beat.
Golden fields in Punjab sing,
Of harvests blessed by the monsoon king.
The Ganga flows, a mother’s hymn,
In every ripple, a sacred dream.
The Thar hums tales of warrior pride,
In Rajasthan where camels stride.
Majestic forts, and desert bloom,
Hold echoes from an ancient loom.
Kerala whispers with spice-sweet air,
Coconut shadows and temples fair.
God’s own country, lush and wide,
With backwaters where dreams glide.
Oh India—your soil, so vast,
A cradle of futures, roots of past.
You hold the stars within your eyes,
And wear the colors of every sky.
II. Song of the People, Pulse of the Street
You are the sari, six yards long,
A tapestry woven with womanly song.
You are the turban on a farmer’s brow,
The promise of rain, the sweat of plough.
You are the chai that simmers slow,
On streets where ancient rhythms flow.
You’re the rhythm of tabla, the beat of dhol,
The Bhangra heart, the Kathak soul.
You're the silence of sages, the roar of youth,
The voice of a billion, speaking truth.
A billion dreams, a single flame—
All whispering your sacred name.
In Tamil you speak of love and lore,
In Bengali, your poets soar.
In Marathi, you chant the light,
In Urdu, you paint the night.
Kannada, Assamese, Gujarati’s grace,
Each tongue a mirror of your face.
No borders drawn within our song,
In difference, we all belong.
III. History’s Breath, Freedom’s Cry
You’ve seen empires rise and fade,
Ashokan wheels and Mughal jade.
You’ve watched the Maurya paths unfold,
And seen Vijayanagara’s splendor told.
Oh Mother, how your chains once clung—
When freedom’s song was still unsung.
You bore the weight of foreign rule,
Yet kept your fire, fierce and cool.
Gandhi walked with salt in hand,
To shake the throne, not raise the brand.
His silence louder than the sword,
Each step a prayer, each breath a word.
Subhas roared with tiger eyes,
Azad’s blood refused to die.
From Lakshmi Bai to Bhagat Singh,
Your sons and daughters took to wing.
You wept, but only for a while,
Then rose again with ancient smile.
The tricolor rose, the anthem cried,
And Bharat Mata stood with pride.
IV. Festivals of Flame and Light
You shine in Holi’s colored breeze,
Where laughter dances on the trees.
You light the night with Diwali’s flame,
A million lamps call out your name.
In Eid, you smell of biryani spice,
Of brotherhood, and starry nights.
At Christmas, churches ring with mirth,
And kindness roams the blessed earth.
In Gurpurab, we walk in grace,
In Navaratri, we dance in space.
In Bihu’s beat and Onam’s bloom,
You fill the land with vibrant room.
You are Pongal’s sacred fire,
You are the rhythm of every pyre.
Each prayer, each drum, each gentle rite—
A galaxy in festive light.
V. The Nature Divine
The tiger walks in Sunderban’s maze,
While peacocks prance in dusky haze.
Your for
