My city of seasons

Sometimes she turns up like a deep thirst...
At the end of a long walk down the scorching asphalt
-A big banyan tree spreading wings
At the turn by the gas station, in an otherwise
Arid, dry, desert of concrete!

Sometimes she arrives
Mirthful, across the slice of wintry sky, blue,
As seen caught between the twin towers by the Maidan...
In which horses run and children play foolish games...
As their parents loll over the grass, lazy...

Sometimes she becomes my Venetian maid, true!
Rowing a gondola and singing songs from tearjerkers of yesteryear...
Across the rivulets running through the streets of Shravana....

Sometimes she comes like an enchantress almost
With a riot of colors all over her smooth body...
Over her every part...stealing a rainbow!

My city...
O how she envelopes me in her beauteous folds!
Every single season
Like a season...