En los balcones, las plantas estiran sus hojas
hacia el sol que aún no asoma.
El panadero abre su tienda, y el aroma
del trigo recién horneado se mezcla
con el humo de los autobuses despertando.

La ciudad frota sus ojos, lentamente,
mientras el cielo se viste de azul.
Y en ese instante, antes del ruido,
todo es posible: el día es un lienzo en blanco.

The night dissolves into gray and pink,
like an old dress losing its embroidery.
The lanterns, tired of shining,
go out one by one, letting out
their last breaths of yellow light.

On the balconies, the plants stretch their leaves
toward the sun that has not yet risen.
The baker opens his shop, and the aroma
of freshly baked wheat mingles
with the smoke from the awakening buses.

The city rubs its eyes, slowly,
as the sky turns blue.
And in that instant, before the noise,
everything is possible: the day is a blank canvas.

@heberwords