Beneath the waves, a story lies, Where Kumari Kandam kissed the skies. A continent of scholar-kings, Where the honey of the Tamil tongue took wing. The sea rose high, the land did fall, But the words lived on, answering the call. From the drowning deep, they climbed the shore, To sing of what was and what came before. Oh, the tongue that would not drown! Carried up from the ancient town. With a Yaazh harp's silver sigh, And the Parai drum's rallying cry! Through the flood and through the fire, It lifts the soul and tunes the lyre. Hear the Kuzhal flute on the rising wind, Tamil lives! The past is not pinned! Agastya came from the northern stars, Wrote the first grammar in golden bars. In the Third Sangam, the poets met, On the Vaigai's banks, their words are set. Of Akam love and Puram war, Of the Yavana trader on the shore. They carved their lines on palm and stone, A civilization's enduring tone. Hear the Nadaswaram cry at the temple gate, The Thavil drum answers, steady and great. The Pambai twins for the dancer's feet, The Murasu war drum, the king's own beat. The Udukkai hums in the palm of the hand, The Kombu horn calls the land. From the sacred yaazh, now reborn and true, The ancient melodies come shining through! Oh, the tongue that would not drown! Carried up from the ancient town. With a Yaazh harp's silver sigh, And the Parai drum's rallying cry! Through the flood and through the fire, It lifts the soul and tunes the lyre. Hear the Kuzhal flute on the rising wind, Tamil lives! The past is not pinned. Centamizh... Koṭuntamizh... The high and the low, the one and the all. The language lives, it will not fall. Parai... Yaazh... Thavil...
