In the golden light of Bhadra's morn,
Where whispers of ancestors are reborn,
We gather by rivers, calm and wide,
To observe Sorah Shradh in the open tide.
Sixteenth day, a solemn rite,
Underneath the sun's gentle light,
We offer prayers with reverence deep,
For those in the family in eternal sleep.
Rice and lentils, offerings made,
To honour ancestors' guiding shade,
Their blessings sought, with holy spirits near,
In this sacred time of the year.
With folded hands and voices clear,
Mantras echo for all to hear,
Each gesture, each hymn, a heartfelt plea,
For grace and blessings, pure and free.
Sorah Sradha, a sacred start,
To Dashain's joy, where spirits impart,
Strength and love from ages past,
This lovely bond forever last.
In the golden light of Bhadra's morn,
Where whispers of ancestors are reborn,
Sorah Sradha's connect we stand,
Guided by their eternal hand.
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