The last cool breeze towards the sea, over my face did it flow free.
The sun was up burning in glee, as I stood under the shade of a palm tree.
All the night did I restlessly walk, every party animal did I curiously stalk,
I heard them laugh and sob and talk, in voices of a kid who ate the chalk.
Red and black short skirts they wore, as high as one could call them a whore.
Their glossy lips in smiles that bore, in silence did their jealousy roar.
Smiles and hugs and kisses on cheeks, and more poses from the selfie freaks,
attention is what each one seeks, on a phone wherein no one speaks.
They met over tequila shots, and drank over like new mud pots,
as their gait stumbled from the spots, where their friends were but shiny dots,
each would kneel and sob the pain, till the mascara on silks did rain,
ditching and bitching is their complain, in the city which knew no rain.
The rich party had jewels rare, the hosts had their fair own share,
the profiles had some backs bare, the likes sprang up like a morning hare,
but none saw her passion tears, all knew fashion but none her fears,
none knew what was between her ears, none saw her soul but all her years.
Clad in the best leather jackets were men, whose bikes would roar like lions ten.
Their muscles knew rods more than pen, all of them met in the alien den.
They watch the ball being kicked and hit, they speak of how one stays fit,
they tell all stories of valour and grit, but none can speak in humorous wit.
They meet over the chilled beers, and turn into bulls in three cheers,
reds and blacks are their steers, and to the ladies their herd nears.
A couple of punches in the face, one trades the hash for golden brace,
some machine freaks would run a race, some would vanish in a witch's trace.
The rich party had cars of gold, the hosts had got a booty to hold,
changing was the man defined to be bold, over all drugs stealthily sold.
The valour was also put to stake, in the casino of the unholy mistake,
none knew why their muscle did bake, if not for the girls' eyes' sake.
Like its people who didn't know why,
like its birds that never fly,
like a beautiful moronic lie,
on a Monday morning slept Dubai.
The sun was up burning in glee, as I stood under the shade of a palm tree.
All the night did I restlessly walk, every party animal did I curiously stalk,
I heard them laugh and sob and talk, in voices of a kid who ate the chalk.
Red and black short skirts they wore, as high as one could call them a whore.
Their glossy lips in smiles that bore, in silence did their jealousy roar.
Smiles and hugs and kisses on cheeks, and more poses from the selfie freaks,
attention is what each one seeks, on a phone wherein no one speaks.
They met over tequila shots, and drank over like new mud pots,
as their gait stumbled from the spots, where their friends were but shiny dots,
each would kneel and sob the pain, till the mascara on silks did rain,
ditching and bitching is their complain, in the city which knew no rain.
The rich party had jewels rare, the hosts had their fair own share,
the profiles had some backs bare, the likes sprang up like a morning hare,
but none saw her passion tears, all knew fashion but none her fears,
none knew what was between her ears, none saw her soul but all her years.
Clad in the best leather jackets were men, whose bikes would roar like lions ten.
Their muscles knew rods more than pen, all of them met in the alien den.
They watch the ball being kicked and hit, they speak of how one stays fit,
they tell all stories of valour and grit, but none can speak in humorous wit.
They meet over the chilled beers, and turn into bulls in three cheers,
reds and blacks are their steers, and to the ladies their herd nears.
A couple of punches in the face, one trades the hash for golden brace,
some machine freaks would run a race, some would vanish in a witch's trace.
The rich party had cars of gold, the hosts had got a booty to hold,
changing was the man defined to be bold, over all drugs stealthily sold.
The valour was also put to stake, in the casino of the unholy mistake,
none knew why their muscle did bake, if not for the girls' eyes' sake.
Like its people who didn't know why,
like its birds that never fly,
like a beautiful moronic lie,
on a Monday morning slept Dubai.