Johannesburg my city of sorrow
many a pen has inked a line about you
many an author exhausted his vocabulary
cursing you for dreams shuttered
even praising you for fortunes stumbled upon

to me you are like an ugly woman
you turn beautiful only by candle light
when night falls you come alive
you assume a degree of sexiness that's appealing
you flash you neon eyes at me
competing with prostitutes for my attention

street shadows contemplate death
as ghost footsteps whisper menacingly in the dark
the homeless lay scattered in rows of human waste
street vendors and beggers have all but disappeared
street corners sell sex, fried chicken and religion
hustlers and gold diggers jostle for the last cent of the night

I stroll down Bree Street
the tune on my lips is sweet
a jazz note calls out to me from behind a dimly-lit door
I enter
inebriated smiles greet me from behind faces that have been places
I accept a horny glance from lip-sticked lips
a few dances break into movement on a makeshift stage

welcome to Johannesburg
where we wear our nightly masks
our private pain stored away
to be dusted and worn again at sunrise
the morning is a Cinderella moment
beauty suddenly disappears
ugliness returns with the intensity of the rising sun