Solace to a wretched beauty

My city is strange
With black and white,
With truths and lies,
With slums running out of water
And parents running out of time.
My city is dangerously beautiful
With sweat and hot breaths on busy streets,
With madding crowd and its glorious madness,
With mysterious brown air and a sultry sky.
My city is gorgeously dismal,
Suffocating under decorums and traffic congestion.
Men are always at work on dusty roads
And protestors try visionary revolution.

Still it rains in my city,
It rains solace,
It rains with valour and pride.
Coffee fumes and raindrops on window panes
Tell a never ending story
And city lights glow bright.
My city wears fresh jasmine
Every time it rains at night.
©aphroditenow