In whispers soft as moonlit beams, A Marathi poem softly streams, To cradle dreams, to gently frame, The secret of the newborn's name. In lilting songs where stories weave, Traditions rich, we all believe, The past and present gently blend, In words upon which blessings tend. Elders gather, wisdom's gaze, To find in verses ancient ways, A thread divine, a silent claim, Revealing thus, the cherished name. Through sounds that dance in sacred air, The newborn's name, beyond compare, A melody of warmth and grace, In Marathi’s timeless embrace.