My city of different noises disturbs,

The metal bench in the park on which I sit

To gather my wits, also loudly rings,

As though it is the anvil struck by a hammer.

The truant air mischievously vacillates,

The sense of direction lost, in its confused state,

It aimlessly wanders and embraces me,

In concealed nooks and crevices but until when?

There are the risen steps leading to a door,

What lies beyond we must find and explore,

My city hides its secrets in strange ways,

In open spaces, in full view of its residents.

Maybe the curbs are in place, the city stands,

With its nuances seen, read and understood,

Its streets are the same, its corners unchanged,

It heaves 'n' haws breathes and pants as before.