BY RAKESH SINHA

Oh, land where dawn gilds temple spires in gold,
Where jasmine winds through twilight’s emerald hold—
India, thy beauty wears a thousand hues,
A symphony of scents, of sights, of muse.

Thy rivers weave like silver-threaded tales,
Through saffron deserts, hills where monsoon wails.
The Ganga’s kiss on Varanasi’s stair,
A million diyas dance in liquid prayer.

Behold the lotus in the morning’s grip,
Or Kerala’s backwaters, a emerald ship.
The Taj’s pale moon on Yamuna’s embrace,
A marble sigh to love’s immortal grace.

Oh, sari’s ripple—sunset’s fiery trail,
Henna’s fine lace, the bangle’s crimson hail.
The dancer’s feet that whisper to the earth,
The veena’s cry of sacred, timeless mirth.

Thy beauty dwells where spice and chaos twine,
In chai-steamed stalls, in monsoon’s drunken wine.
In temple bells, in Sufi’s tranced refrain,
In every grain of rice on harvest’s plain.

India—no mirror dares to hold thee whole,
Thou art the palette of the cosmic soul.
A beauty vast as sky, as deep as sea,
Not just a land—thou art eternity.