The mango-trees in monsoon-rain
Lily lilac in sun-lit flame
Green meadow
Innocence roam around
Beauty bathes
Under the beauteous moonlit lake

Miss your walk through the silent maze
Misty morning
Ekusey Book Fair
Evening congregation under the ages-old, ancient oak, banyan and
mahogany trees, trails–

The Royal Bengal
The hilsha, the jui, the bokul, the seuli, the shapla–
Padma, Meghna, Jamuna
Fruity fruits
Riverine woods

You enchant me
You woo me
Like my mother
You warm me, comfort me forever

After I die
Let them bury me
Beneath your blessed shadowy-stream!

Bangladesh I love you more than I can say

I keep dreaming of you from far away USA

O the same sky, the same stars, the same air and wind that I share why
I do not feel the same

Buriganga call me
The tea-garden of Sylhet where the sun of summer sweetly shed shades
The kindness of my mother
The carefree casual playfulness of my childhood friends


O my beloved motherland

How I wish to come back to thy holy grail

The paddy-fields, the richness of thy dewy dreamy forests

The wise old banyan tree stood in the Bangla Academy in Dhaka so still
so serene amidst the hubbub of the city’s smoke and siren

Many a days I remember to have sit at and rest beneath the bough of
thy magical majestic leaves, roots, and leaflets

The streets of Dhaka, the rustic romantic muddy roads of my village
lay await patiently for me to come back

I could still smell the sweet smelling mango-blossoms, the
intoxicating air enamoureda with the fragrance of jui, jasmine, and
roses growing neatly in my backyard garden

The lily-lipped-lotus lake gently humming in the moonlit ripples of
the evening maze

The maidens so pure and beautiful
As chaste as the cherry-blossoms in mid-May
So many churches, temples, and mosques standing side by side declaring
the co-existence of so many faiths


In dream I dream you
I in You lay awake
Thou art my mother
Thou art my sacred existence

Let my life be blessed by you
Let my death not be bereaved me of thy universal presence


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