From the hills of the East where the emerald glows,
Where the blood of the brave like a river still flows.
I stand on the soil where the tigers once trod,
With a spirit as fierce as a celestial god.
Bangladesh, the land where my heartbeat began,
I carry your strength in the palm of my hand.
The salt of the Bay and the breeze of the port,
Have built in my soul an impenetrable fort.
From the streets of the city to the green of the plain,
I've learned how to flourish in sunlight and rain.
My roots are as deep as the roots of the trees,
That bend but don't break in the cyclone's breeze.
I hold up this hand for the whole world to see,
A daughter of martyrs, determined and free.
The ink in my veins is the delta's own silt,
On which every kingdom and story is built.
I write with the power of fifty-two's flame,
Carving in stardust my country's great name.
No ocean is wider than the pride in my chest,
As I send out my visions from East to the West.
My language is music, my culture is gold,
A story of glory that's yet to be told.
I am the architect, fierce and refined,
With the spirit of Bengal forever entwined.
Let the world hear the roar of the Meghna's deep tide,
As I walk through the shadows with nothing to hide.
The "Sovereign Hand" is a gift from this earth,
To honor the nation that gave me my birth.
From the Karnaphuli to the edge of the sky,
My banners of victory shall certainly fly.
I carry the sun and the moon in my grip,
As the boundaries of nations and languages slip.
Stronger than iron and bolder than fate,
Is the pride of a heart that is truly great.