Where the horizons are painted in a deep, lush green,
The most beautiful kingdom that the eyes have seen.
The rolling hills of Sylhet, like waves on a sea,
Home to the leaf and the soul of the tea.
A carpet of emerald spread over the ground,
Where the silence of nature is the only sound.
The "Two Leaves and a Bud," in the morning dew,
Glistening bright in a shade that is new.
The tea-pickers move with a rhythmic grace,
With bamboo baskets and a sun-kissed face.
Their fingers are nimble, their songs soft and low,
As through the long alleys of bushes they go.
The shade trees are standing like guards in a row,
Protecting the harvest that matures down below.
Through the Malnicherra trails or the Sreemangal height,
The scenery shimmers in the golden-hued light.
A mist from the mountains descends on the leaf,
Bringing a coolness, a moment's relief.
The aroma of earth and the scent of the rain,
Washing away every worry and pain.
From the first cup of morning to the set of the sun,
The magic of Sylhet is never quite done.
A sanctuary green, where the spirit can fly,
Under the vastness of a Sylheti sky.