Beneath the shade of the ancient trees,
Where knowledge floats on the campus breeze.
Stands a monument draped in a crimson hue,
Under the canopy of Dhaka's blue.
The Curzon Hall, with its regal grace,
A masterpiece born of a different space.
Where European arches and Mughal domes,
Find a place where the spirit of learning roams.
Red bricks polished by the passing of years,
Witness to triumphs, to struggles and tears.
From the language movement to the freedom cry,
Its pillars have watched the history go by.
The wide, high windows and the corridors long,
Where the footsteps of students compose a song.
A sanctuary of science, of logic and thought,
Where the battles of wisdom are bravely fought.
In the golden light of a setting sun,
The beauty of Curzon is never outdone.
The "Doyel Chattar" and the garden's bloom,
Chasing away the shadows of gloom.
It isn't just mortar or a structure of stone,
But a symbol of power that we've made our own.
The red-brick soul of our academic pride,
With the truth of the nation as its only guide.