In Damascus, Trump Tower Opens, Hmm?

In old city of Damascus, where silence battles street noise and spice markets hum with unrest, risen it has � �Trump Tower in Damascus.� Gold it is, tall it stands, and confused the locals are. Ceremony grand was: camels danced, diplomats bowed, drones hummed national anthems from three galaxies away. Inside, serenity spa for senators there is, and exhibit hall of failed handshakes and treaties incomplete. Elevator only upward goes � metaphor for ego, yes, yes. �Bridge between worlds it shall be,� officials say. �Wi-Fi work, does it?� townspeople ask. Upstairs, mojitos without permission served. Lobby? Carpet made of campaign slogans woven into regret. Trump Tower in Damascus, just structure it is not � monument to ambition misplaced, theater of power cloaked in marble, yes. Laugh you may. Cry, perhaps. But photograph you will. Hmm.