Endless crowds which never cease,
Meaning little chance of peace.
Voices raised above the din,
Helped along with beer or gin.
Constant traffic with more noise,
Often drunken girls and boys.
Flashing lights form neon signs,
Frequent queues in wavy lines.
Smell of food from numerous stalls,
Rubbish left just where it falls.
Ill-lit streets which make it hard
To notice every court and yard.
Rickshaws waiting for a fare,
People jostling everywhere.
Beggars settling down to sleep
With rags and blankets in a heap.
Few if any police in sight
During all the hours of night.
Building works are everywhere,
No matter where you look they’re there.
Sirens make their presence felt
As along the streets they pelt.
All is lively, loud and bright
As people all enjoy the night.
The young all love it, but for me
The country’s where I’d rather be..
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