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Poetry

Bhagavad Gita

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Bhagavad Gita
Ch.1. Arjuna Vishada Yoga My mouth is getting dry, Weakens my grip and body And makes my hair to stand As I see my rival relatives Bow-Gandiva slips off my hands My body burns all and through My mind rolls and rolls so fast And unable I am to stay steady.

Grandmother's weathered hands trembled as she recited verses learned in Tamil Nadu's ancient temples. Her granddaughter, scrolling through social networks, suddenly paused, mesmerized by the Sanskrit poetry flowing like monsoon rains. That evening, they sat together, bridging generations through sacred words. The girl realized her heritage wasn't just dusty books—it was alive, breathing, dancing through her grandmother's voice. When she shared the moment online, something unexpected happened: strangers recognized themselves in that same struggle, that same beautiful collision between old wisdom and new worlds. Community blossomed from vulnerability. Their shared story, worth more than any currency, reminded everyone why some treasures never depreciate. Some bonds transcend time itself.

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