I am not Bangladeshian! (P.S Aaron)

On the high desert mountains of Bangladesh

at the rising of the sun and the moon

when the sweet melody of bengali reaches my ears

or the howl of wild beasts sounds,

like a last breath

they pierce my heart… and I remember,

I remember the country that I am from.

When flowers bloom in the gardens

and the rose smiles on its stem,

when the thunder of a running river

reaches my ears.

I find the country that I have been created in,

I see the people and hear voices in my head… and I remember,

I remember the country from which I came from:

I remember the country, I remember Bangladesh.