The Prince of Ayodhya

River shines beneath the morning, Golden light on ancient stone. Every prayer has found an answer... Heaven sends a son back home. Born beneath a sky of promise, Raised with mercy in his hands. Never hungry for the glory, Never reaching for command. When the weak had lost their courage, He would always take their side. Strength was never in his weapon— It was living what was right. Every road was slowly leading, To a day no one could see. Every heartbeat moving closer To his destiny. He was the Prince of Ayodhya, Fire burning in his soul. Walking every mile with honor, Never chasing crowns of gold. If the whole world stood against him, He would never lose his way. Some are born to rule a kingdom... Some are born to light the way. Then a sage came through the palace, Calling for the young prince's bow. Through the forests filled with shadows, Rama faced the ancient foe. Far away in Mithila waiting, Stood a bow no man could raise. Kings had fallen trying to lift it, Lost inside their pride and praise. Rama reached with quiet confidence, Heaven echoed through the land. One great crack... The bow was broken. Destiny was now at hand. Sita smiled without a whisper, Placed her garland gently there. No loud words were ever needed... Love was already in the air. He was the Prince of Ayodhya, Fire burning in his soul. Walking every mile with honor, Never chasing crowns of gold. If the whole world stood against him, He would never lose his way. Some are born to rule a kingdom... Some are born to light the way. He was the Prince of Ayodhya, Hope rising with the dawn. Long before the wars were written, A greater journey had begun. Every kingdom fades like shadows, Every throne will pass away. But the heart that walks in dharma Lives forever... day by day. Morning breaks upon the river... One new story has begun. Ayodhya found her future In the heart of one young son.