The scattered seeds of history
Lie buried in the desert shade
And watered by the crescent moon
Rise up to form a sickle blade
Minarets and sacred domes
Caravans and loving homes
Maiden towers, rising blocks
Tireless cranes and bustling docks
The past now seems a distant shore
The present rides an oil-slick tide
And as the trade winds bluff and blow
The city chugs and churns with pride
— Wayne Visser