The rain taps a rhythm on the rooftops of tin,
While the mist from the hills slowly wanders on in.
From the port's heavy iron to the salt of the sea,
The city is breathing a dark melody.
The mountains remember the secrets the wind tried to hide,
Of the lovers who walked by the Karnaphuli tide.
Patenga is glowing in the moonlight's soft silver,
As the dreams of the sleeping start to tremble and quiver.
The scent of the clay and the wet, heavy leaves,
A tapestry woven that the midnight sky weaves.
Every alleyway knows a name that was lost,
A memory kept at a terrible cost.
Oh, city of hills, where the shadows grow deep,
You guard all the promises we failed to keep.
The stars over Chattogram are silent and bright,
Watching the soul of the town through the night.