'City of Djinns'

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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...

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