In the morning that wakes without noise,
the streets carry the scent of bread and hope,
windows open like young eyes
searching for light not only the sun.
A flag sways in the gentle air,
not as a distant memory,
but as a breath that goes on,
a heartbeat that has never learned to fall silent.
Hands that yesterday were tired
speak today without words;
in their lines you can read stories
that are never written in books.
The city moves slowly, yet with certainty,
over asphalt that knows heavy footsteps,
but also light dreams
that refuse to remain in the shadows.
May First is not just a date,
it is a memory that knocks softly:
that dignity does not need a loud voice,
but people who do not forget to stand.
And at the end of the day,
when the sun sets without drama,
there remains a simple feeling
that even tomorrow can be more just.
