'City of Djinns'
Standing atop a roof, a queue of never ending lights line the May sky
As a soft cacophony of cars usher from the road below,
And a resplendent spectacle of the city one beholds,
As torrid heat emanates from within the depths of its soul…
It never rests, it seldom sleeps,
And, despite being embroiled in a clutter of sordid events
It rises to the occasion from its own debris
Because the show must go on, however eluding be the remedy.
And while we loathe a multitude of cars that cram its roads every day
And lose our mind in the attitude so loud and brazen,
There is a certain beckoning in its qawallis and carcass of forts and tombs, and a certain delight in its street food,
Some oases of refuge, besides its infamous ostentation...