It is the City of the Covenant. It felt the footsteps of the Master, and in loneliness, awaits its final spiritualization. It has given birth to creativity. It is an island, waiting for return of its own Almustafa. Sidewalks speak of Summer madness And forgotten poets menuized.
Night envelops both sun and sidewalk dreams.
Yellow cabs take actors on their way. Some to rooms to recollect the drama, Some to leave, while others mourn their stay. Oh that time could just stand still, And prevent today from becoming another yesterday. If only we had the time. Time moves swiftly through revolving doors, Trying desperately to make each moment past of the past.