Festival, joy, lights all around,
Each lamp lit bright, a spark of cheer.
Tell me, Govind, can you feel it, too?
This rush in the air, this glow we walk through?

The street’s alive, with rangoli on stone,
Each curve a story, each hue its own.
Barefoot we trace paths laid by hands unseen,
Wonders crafted from rice and dreams.

The temple bells ring, a rhythmic chime,
Matching our footsteps, keeping time.
Did you see, son, the stars lean over,
Kissing the earth in this humble town?

There’s a vibe, a pulse, as ancient as sand,
Pulling us close, hand in hand.
I watch you weave through sweets and song,
And wonder – doesn’t this place feel like home?

But what’s the purpose, the soul of it all?
Beyond the laughter, the feast, the gathering calls.
We bow to gods in a house of stone,
Yet feel their touch in each home we own.

The air grows quiet as lamps burn,
Stars fading out in a gentle glow.
Divine whispers ride on the evening breeze,
Offering us peace, and a gentle breath.

And I think, Govind, as you drift to sleep,
Of harmony found in moments we keep—
When the world feels small, just us, just here,
In Kumbakonam’s heart, held close, held dear.

And so, with lamps that dim yet spirits high,
We whisper our thanks to the starlit sky.
For each laugh shared, each prayer uttered,
For moments woven with you, my son.

Tonight, as dreams close your tired eyes,
I’ll keep watch over you under these skies..
In the gentle rhythm of life, I’ll remain,
A steady light by your side, always.

In this town of gods, of dust, of grace,
You are my heart, my resting place.
And as this festival finds its close,
Know, a mother’s love only grows.

-Indu, a mother.