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ðð§ ð®ð§ð ð¬ðšð¥ðððð ððð«ðð, ðð§ ð¥ð ððð¬ðšð¥ððð ðð¬ðððð¢ðšÌð§ ðð ððšðŠðð®ð¬ðð¢ðð¥ð, ððšð¬ ðð¢ð ð®ð«ðð¬ ð¬ð ðð§ððšð§ðð«ðð«ðšð§ ðð§ ð¥ð ðð¢ð¥ð ð¢ð§ððð«ðŠð¢ð§ððð¥ð. ðð§ðš ðð«ð ð®ð§ ðð§ðð¢ðð§ðš ðð§ððšð«ð¯ðððš, ððšð§ ðð«ð«ð®ð ðð¬ ð©ð«ðšðð®ð§ððð¬ ð² ðšð£ðšð¬ ððð§ð¬ðððšð¬. ðð¥ ðšðð«ðš, ð®ð§ ð£ðšð¯ðð§ ð¢ðŠð©ððð¢ðð§ðð, ððšð§ ð®ð§ð ðŠð¢ð«ððð ððð¬ððð¢ðð§ðð ð² ð®ð§ð ðððð¢ðð®ð ððð¬ð©ðððð¢ð¯ð.
ðð¥ ðð§ðð¢ðð§ðš, ðð©ðšð²ðððš ðð§ ð¬ð® ððð¬ððšÌð§, ðŠð¢ð«ðšÌ ðð¥ ð£ðšð¯ðð§ ð² ððšðŠðð§ð³ðšÌ ð ð¡ððð¥ðð« ððšð§ ð¯ðšð³ ðððŠðð¥ðšð«ðšð¬ð: «¿ððð¬ ðð¬ðð ðð¬ðððð¢ðšÌð§ ðð ððšðŠðð®ð¬ðð¢ðð¥ð? ðð¬ ð®ð§ð ðŠðð§ðð¢ð«ð. ðð§ð ðððð¡ððð ðªð®ð ðšðð®ð¥ðð ð¥ð ð¯ðð«ððððð«ð ð«ðð³ðšÌð§ ðððð«ðÌð¬ ðð ðð¬ðð ððšð¥ð ð¢ð§ððð«ðŠð¢ð§ððð¥ð. ððªð®ð¢Ì ð§ðš ð¡ðð² ð ðð¬ðšð¥ð¢ð§ð, ð¬ðšð¥ðš ð¢ð¥ð®ð¬ð¢ðšð§ðð¬ ð² ðð¬ð©ðð«ðð§ð³ðð¬ ð«ðšððð¬Â».
ðð¥ ð£ðšð¯ðð§ ð¬ð ð«ð¢ðš ððšð§ ððð¬ððÌð§. «¿ð ðð®Ì ðªð®ðÌ ð¬ðððð¬? ¿ðððð¬ðš ðð«ðð¬ ð®ð§ ð©ð«ðšðððð ðš ð®ð§ ð¯ð¢ð¬ð¢ðšð§ðð«ð¢ðš?»
ðð¥ ðð§ðð¢ðð§ðš ð¬ðšð§ð«ð¢ðšÌ ððšð§ ðð«ð¢ð¬ððð³ð. «ððš ð¬ðšð² ð§ððð ðð ðð¬ðš, ð©ðð«ðš ð¡ð ð¯ð¢ð¯ð¢ððš ð¥ðš ð¬ð®ðð¢ðð¢ðð§ðð ð©ðð«ð ð«ðððšð§ðšððð« ð¥ð ð¯ðð«ððð. ðð¬ðð ðð¬ðððð¢ðšÌð§ ðð ð¬ðð«ð¯ð¢ðð¢ðš ðð¬ ð¬ðšð¥ðš ð®ð§ð ð©ðð§ððð¥ð¥ð, ð®ð§ð ððšð«ðð¢ð§ð ðð ð¡ð®ðŠðš ð©ðð«ð ðð¢ð¬ðð«ððð«ð§ðšð¬ ðð ð¥ð ð«ððð¥ð¢ððð. ðð ð¯ðð«ððððð«ð ð«ðð³ðšÌð§ ðððð«ðÌð¬ ðð ðð¬ðð ðð¬ððð¬ðð³ ðð ððšðŠðð®ð¬ðð¢ðð¥ð ðð¬ ðŠð®ðð¡ðš ðŠðÌð¬ ð©ð«ðšðð®ð§ðð».
ðð¥ ð£ðšð¯ðð§ ðð«ð®ð§ðð¢ðšÌ ðð¥ ððð§Ìðš. «¿ð ðð®ðÌð¥ ðð¬ ðð¬ð ð«ðð³ðšÌð§, ððð®ðð¥ðš?»
ðð¥ ðð§ðð¢ðð§ðš ð¬ð ð¢ð§ðð¥ð¢ð§ðšÌ ð¡ððð¢ð ðÌð¥ ð² ð¬ð®ð¬ð®ð«ð«ðšÌ: «ðð¬ ðð¥ ð©ðšððð«. ððšð¬ ðªð®ð ððšð§ðð«ðšð¥ðð§ ð¥ðšð¬ ð¬ð®ðŠð¢ð§ð¢ð¬ðð«ðšð¬ ðð ððšðŠðð®ð¬ðð¢ðð¥ð ðððŠðð¢ðÌð§ ððšð§ðð«ðšð¥ðð§ ð§ð®ðð¬ðð«ðð¬ ð¯ð¢ððð¬. ððšð¬ ðŠðð§ðð¢ðð§ðð§ ðð§ ðð¬ðð ðð¢ð¥ð, ððð¬ðð¬ð©ðð«ðððšð¬ ð² ððð©ðð§ðð¢ðð§ððð¬. ðð¢ðð§ðð«ðð¬ ððð§ððš, ð¥ð¥ðð§ðð§ ð¬ð®ð¬ ððšð¥ð¬ð¢ð¥ð¥ðšð¬ ððšð§ ð ðð§ðð§ðð¢ðð¬ ðšðð¬ððð§ðð¬Â».
ðð¥ ð£ðšð¯ðð§ ð¬ð ðªð®ðððšÌ ð©ðð§ð¬ððð¢ð¯ðš. «ððð«ðš, ¿ðªð®ð¢ðÌð§ ðð¢ðð ð¥ð ð¯ðð«ððð ðð§ððšð§ððð¬?»
ðð¥ ðð§ðð¢ðð§ðš, ððšð§ ð¬ð® ð¯ðšð³ ðððŠðð¥ðšð«ðšð¬ð, ððšð§ðð¢ð§ð®ðšÌ: «ðð ð¯ðð«ððð ðð¬ððÌ ðšðð®ð¥ðð ðð§ ð¥ðð¬ ð¬ðšðŠðð«ðð¬, ð©ðð«ðš ð©ðšðððŠðšð¬ ðð§ððšð§ðð«ðð«ð¥ð ð¬ð¢ ðŠð¢ð«ððŠðšð¬ ðŠðÌð¬ ðð¥ð¥ðÌ ðð ð¥ðð¬ ðð©ðð«ð¢ðð§ðð¢ðð¬. ¿ððð¬ ð ðð¬ð ðŠð®ð£ðð« ðð¥ð¥ð¢Ì? ðð ðªð®ð ð¬ðšð¬ðð¢ðð§ð ðð¥ ðð¢ððšÌð§ ð¯ððð¢Ìðš. ðð¥ð¥ð ðð¬ ð¥ð ðð¥ðð¯ð».
ðð¥ ð£ðšð¯ðð§ ð¬ð¢ð ð®ð¢ðšÌ ð¥ð ðŠð¢ð«ððð ððð¥ ðð§ðð¢ðð§ðš ð² ð¯ð¢ðš ð ð¥ð ðŠð®ð£ðð«. ðð®ð¬ ðšð£ðšð¬ ðð¬ððððð§ ð¥ð¥ðð§ðšð¬ ðð ðð«ð¢ð¬ððð³ð ð² ððð¬ðð¬ð©ðð«ððð¢ðšÌð§. «¿ðð®ðÌ ðð¢ðð§ð ðªð®ð ð¯ðð« ðð¥ð¥ð ððšð§ ððšððš ðð¬ððš?»
ðð¥ ðð§ðð¢ðð§ðš ð¬ð ð¢ð§ðð¥ð¢ð§ðšÌ ð¡ððð¢ð ðð¥ ð£ðšð¯ðð§ ð² ð¬ð®ð¬ð®ð«ð«ðšÌ: «ðð¥ð¥ð ðð¬ ð¥ð ðŠðð§ð¬ðð£ðð«ð ðð ð¥ð ð¯ðð«ððð. ðð ðð¬ððððš ðð§ ðð¬ðð ððšð¥ð ðð®ð«ðð§ðð ðð¢Ìðð¬, ð¥ð®ðð¡ðð§ððš ð©ðšð« ð®ð§ ð©ðšððš ðð ððšðŠðð®ð¬ðð¢ðð¥ð ð©ðð«ð ð¬ð® ðððŠð¢ð¥ð¢ð. ððð«ðš ð§ðš ðð¬ ð¬ðšð¥ðš ð¥ð ð ðð¬ðšð¥ð¢ð§ð ð¥ðš ðªð®ð ðð®ð¬ðð. ðð¬ ð¥ð ð£ð®ð¬ðð¢ðð¢ð, ð¥ð ð¢ð ð®ðð¥ððð, ð¥ð ðð¬ð©ðð«ðð§ð³ð».
ðð¥ ð£ðšð¯ðð§ ðð«ð®ð§ðð¢ðšÌ ðð¥ ððð§Ìðš. «¿ð ððšÌðŠðš ð©ðšðððŠðšð¬ ðð²ð®ððð«ð¥ð?»
ðð¥ ðð§ðð¢ðð§ðš ð¬ðšð§ð«ð¢ðšÌ. «ðððððŠðšð¬ ð®ð§ð¢ð«ð§ðšð¬. ððð£ðð« ðð ð¥ðððš ð§ð®ðð¬ðð«ðð¬ ðð¢ððð«ðð§ðð¢ðð¬ ð² ðð®ð¬ððð« ð«ðð¬ð©ð®ðð¬ððð¬ ð£ð®ð§ððšð¬. ððð¥ ð¯ðð³ ð§ðš ð©ðšðððŠðšð¬ ðððŠðð¢ðð« ððšððš ðð¥ ð¬ð¢ð¬ðððŠð, ð©ðð«ðš ð©ðšðððŠðšð¬ ðŠðð«ððð« ð¥ð ðð¢ððð«ðð§ðð¢ð ð©ðð«ð ðð¥ð¥ð ð² ð©ðð«ð ððšððšð¬ ð¥ðšð¬ ðªð®ð ð¬ð®ðð«ðð§Â».
ðð¬ð¢Ì, ðð¥ ðð§ðð¢ðð§ðš ð² ðð¥ ð£ðšð¯ðð§ ððšðŠðð§ð³ðð«ðšð§ ð ð¡ððð¥ðð« ððšð§ ð¥ðšð¬ ðððŠðÌð¬ ðð§ ð¥ð ðð¢ð¥ð. ððšðŠð©ðð«ðð¢ðð«ðšð§ ð¡ð¢ð¬ððšð«ð¢ðð¬, ðð«ð®ð¬ðð«ððð¢ðšð§ðð¬ ð² ð¬ð®ðð§Ìðšð¬. ððð¬ðð®ðð«ð¢ðð«ðšð§ ðªð®ð ðŠð®ðð¡ðšð¬ ðð¬ððððð§ ðð¢ð¬ð©ð®ðð¬ððšð¬ ð ð¥ð®ðð¡ðð« ð©ðšð« ð®ð§ ðððŠðð¢ðš ð«ððð¥.
ðð ðŠð®ð£ðð« ððšð§ ðð¥ ðð¢ððšÌð§ ð¯ððð¢Ìðš ð¬ð ð®ð§ð¢ðšÌ ð ð¥ð ððšð§ð¯ðð«ð¬ððð¢ðšÌð§. «ððš ð©ð®ðððš ðªð®ðððð«ðŠð ðð ðð«ðð³ðšð¬ ðð«ð®ð³ðððšð¬. ðð¢ ðððŠð¢ð¥ð¢ð ð§ðððð¬ð¢ðð ðð¬ðð ð ðð¬ðšð¥ð¢ð§ð, ð©ðð«ðš ðððŠðð¢ðÌð§ ð§ðððð¬ð¢ðð ð®ð§ ðŠð®ð§ððš ðŠðð£ðšð«Â».
ðð ððšð¥ð ðð ð¥ð ðð¬ðððð¢ðšÌð§ ðð ððšðŠðð®ð¬ðð¢ðð¥ð ð¬ð ððšð§ð¯ð¢ð«ðð¢ðšÌ ðð§ ð®ð§ ð¥ð®ð ðð« ðð ð«ðð¬ð¢ð¬ððð§ðð¢ð. ððšð¬ ð«ð®ðŠðšð«ðð¬ ðð ð®ð§ð ð«ðð¯ð®ðð¥ðð ð¬ð ðð±ððð§ðð¢ðð«ðšð§ ððšðŠðš ðð¥ ðð®ðð ðš. ððšð¬ ð©ðšððð«ðšð¬ðšð¬ ðððŠðð¥ðð«ðšð§ ðð§ðð ð¥ð ð©ðšð¬ð¢ðð¢ð¥ð¢ððð ðð ð©ðð«ððð« ð¬ð® ððšð§ðð«ðšð¥.
ðð ð¯ðð«ððð ððŠðð«ð ð¢ðšÌ ð¥ðð§ðððŠðð§ðð. ððšð¬ ð¢ð§ððð«ðð¬ðð¬ ðšðð®ð¥ððšð¬ ðððð«ðÌð¬ ðð ð¥ð ðð¬ððð¬ðð³ ðð ððšðŠðð®ð¬ðð¢ðð¥ð ð¬ð ð«ðð¯ðð¥ðð«ðšð§. ððð¬ ðŠðð§ðð¢ð«ðð¬ ð¬ð ððð¬ðŠðšð«ðšð§ðð«ðšð§, ð² ð¥ð ðð¬ð©ðð«ðð§ð³ð ðð«ððð¢ðšÌ.
ðð§ ð¥ð ð®Ìð¥ðð¢ðŠð ð©ðÌð ð¢ð§ð ðð ðð¬ðð ð¡ð¢ð¬ððšð«ð¢ð, ðð¥ ðð§ðð¢ðð§ðš ð² ðð¥ ð£ðšð¯ðð§ ð¬ð ðð§ðð«ðð§ððð«ðšð§ ð ð®ð§ð ðð¥ðððð¢ðšÌð§: ð¬ðð ð®ð¢ð« ðð§ ð¥ð ðð¢ð¥ð ðš ð®ð§ð¢ð«ð¬ð ð ð¥ð ð¥ð®ðð¡ð. ðð§ ðŠððð¢ðš ðð ð¥ð ððšð¥ð, ððšð¬ ð¯ðšððð¬ ð¬ð ðð¥ð³ðð«ðšð§, ð®ð§ð ð¡ððð¥ðð§ððš ðð ðŠðð§ðð¢ð«ðð¬ ð² ð¥ð ðšðð«ð ðð ð¯ðð«ððððð¬. ððð«ðš ðð§ ðð¬ð ðŠðšðŠðð§ððš, ððŠððšð¬ ððšðŠð©ðð«ðð¢ðð«ðšð§ ð®ð§ ð¢ðððð¥. ðð ð¥ð®ðð¡ð ð©ðšð« ð¥ð ð¯ðð«ððð ð² ð¥ð ðð®ð¬ðð¢ðð¢ð, ð¯ðð¥ðšð«ðð¬ ðŠðÌð¬ ð¢ðŠð©ðšð«ððð§ððð¬ ðªð®ð ðð®ðð¥ðªð®ð¢ðð« ððð§ðªð®ð ð¥ð¥ðð§ðš ðð ð ðð¬ðšð¥ð¢ð§ð. ð ðð¬ð¢Ì ððšð§ðð¢ð§ð®ðð«ðšð§, ðð¬ð©ðð«ðð§ððš ð£ð®ð§ððšð¬, ðð§ ðð®ð¬ðð ðð ð«ðð¬ð©ð®ðð¬ððð¬ ðð§ ð®ð§ ðŠð®ð§ððš ðð®ð«ðð¢ðš ð² ððšð§ðð®ð¬ðš.
ðð§ ð®ð§ð ð¬ðšð¥ðððð ððð«ðð, ðð§ ð¥ð ððð¬ðšð¥ððð ðð¬ðððð¢ðšÌð§ ðð ððšðŠðð®ð¬ðð¢ðð¥ð, ððšð¬ ðð¢ð ð®ð«ðð¬ ð¬ð ðð§ððšð§ðð«ðð«ðšð§ ðð§ ð¥ð ðð¢ð¥ð ð¢ð§ððð«ðŠð¢ð§ððð¥ð. ðð§ðš ðð«ð ð®ð§ ðð§ðð¢ðð§ðš ðð§ððšð«ð¯ðððš, ððšð§ ðð«ð«ð®ð ðð¬ ð©ð«ðšðð®ð§ððð¬ ð² ðšð£ðšð¬ ððð§ð¬ðððšð¬. ðð¥ ðšðð«ðš, ð®ð§ ð£ðšð¯ðð§ ð¢ðŠð©ððð¢ðð§ðð, ððšð§ ð®ð§ð ðŠð¢ð«ððð ððð¬ððð¢ðð§ðð ð² ð®ð§ð ðððð¢ðð®ð ððð¬ð©ðððð¢ð¯ð.
ðð¥ ðð§ðð¢ðð§ðš, ðð©ðšð²ðððš ðð§ ð¬ð® ððð¬ððšÌð§, ðŠð¢ð«ðšÌ ðð¥ ð£ðšð¯ðð§ ð² ððšðŠðð§ð³ðšÌ ð ð¡ððð¥ðð« ððšð§ ð¯ðšð³ ðððŠðð¥ðšð«ðšð¬ð: «¿ððð¬ ðð¬ðð ðð¬ðððð¢ðšÌð§ ðð ððšðŠðð®ð¬ðð¢ðð¥ð? ðð¬ ð®ð§ð ðŠðð§ðð¢ð«ð. ðð§ð ðððð¡ððð ðªð®ð ðšðð®ð¥ðð ð¥ð ð¯ðð«ððððð«ð ð«ðð³ðšÌð§ ðððð«ðÌð¬ ðð ðð¬ðð ððšð¥ð ð¢ð§ððð«ðŠð¢ð§ððð¥ð. ððªð®ð¢Ì ð§ðš ð¡ðð² ð ðð¬ðšð¥ð¢ð§ð, ð¬ðšð¥ðš ð¢ð¥ð®ð¬ð¢ðšð§ðð¬ ð² ðð¬ð©ðð«ðð§ð³ðð¬ ð«ðšððð¬Â».
ðð¥ ð£ðšð¯ðð§ ð¬ð ð«ð¢ðš ððšð§ ððð¬ððÌð§. «¿ð ðð®Ì ðªð®ðÌ ð¬ðððð¬? ¿ðððð¬ðš ðð«ðð¬ ð®ð§ ð©ð«ðšðððð ðš ð®ð§ ð¯ð¢ð¬ð¢ðšð§ðð«ð¢ðš?»
ðð¥ ðð§ðð¢ðð§ðš ð¬ðšð§ð«ð¢ðšÌ ððšð§ ðð«ð¢ð¬ððð³ð. «ððš ð¬ðšð² ð§ððð ðð ðð¬ðš, ð©ðð«ðš ð¡ð ð¯ð¢ð¯ð¢ððš ð¥ðš ð¬ð®ðð¢ðð¢ðð§ðð ð©ðð«ð ð«ðððšð§ðšððð« ð¥ð ð¯ðð«ððð. ðð¬ðð ðð¬ðððð¢ðšÌð§ ðð ð¬ðð«ð¯ð¢ðð¢ðš ðð¬ ð¬ðšð¥ðš ð®ð§ð ð©ðð§ððð¥ð¥ð, ð®ð§ð ððšð«ðð¢ð§ð ðð ð¡ð®ðŠðš ð©ðð«ð ðð¢ð¬ðð«ððð«ð§ðšð¬ ðð ð¥ð ð«ððð¥ð¢ððð. ðð ð¯ðð«ððððð«ð ð«ðð³ðšÌð§ ðððð«ðÌð¬ ðð ðð¬ðð ðð¬ððð¬ðð³ ðð ððšðŠðð®ð¬ðð¢ðð¥ð ðð¬ ðŠð®ðð¡ðš ðŠðÌð¬ ð©ð«ðšðð®ð§ðð».
ðð¥ ð£ðšð¯ðð§ ðð«ð®ð§ðð¢ðšÌ ðð¥ ððð§Ìðš. «¿ð ðð®ðÌð¥ ðð¬ ðð¬ð ð«ðð³ðšÌð§, ððð®ðð¥ðš?»
ðð¥ ðð§ðð¢ðð§ðš ð¬ð ð¢ð§ðð¥ð¢ð§ðšÌ ð¡ððð¢ð ðÌð¥ ð² ð¬ð®ð¬ð®ð«ð«ðšÌ: «ðð¬ ðð¥ ð©ðšððð«. ððšð¬ ðªð®ð ððšð§ðð«ðšð¥ðð§ ð¥ðšð¬ ð¬ð®ðŠð¢ð§ð¢ð¬ðð«ðšð¬ ðð ððšðŠðð®ð¬ðð¢ðð¥ð ðððŠðð¢ðÌð§ ððšð§ðð«ðšð¥ðð§ ð§ð®ðð¬ðð«ðð¬ ð¯ð¢ððð¬. ððšð¬ ðŠðð§ðð¢ðð§ðð§ ðð§ ðð¬ðð ðð¢ð¥ð, ððð¬ðð¬ð©ðð«ðððšð¬ ð² ððð©ðð§ðð¢ðð§ððð¬. ðð¢ðð§ðð«ðð¬ ððð§ððš, ð¥ð¥ðð§ðð§ ð¬ð®ð¬ ððšð¥ð¬ð¢ð¥ð¥ðšð¬ ððšð§ ð ðð§ðð§ðð¢ðð¬ ðšðð¬ððð§ðð¬Â».
ðð¥ ð£ðšð¯ðð§ ð¬ð ðªð®ðððšÌ ð©ðð§ð¬ððð¢ð¯ðš. «ððð«ðš, ¿ðªð®ð¢ðÌð§ ðð¢ðð ð¥ð ð¯ðð«ððð ðð§ððšð§ððð¬?»
ðð¥ ðð§ðð¢ðð§ðš, ððšð§ ð¬ð® ð¯ðšð³ ðððŠðð¥ðšð«ðšð¬ð, ððšð§ðð¢ð§ð®ðšÌ: «ðð ð¯ðð«ððð ðð¬ððÌ ðšðð®ð¥ðð ðð§ ð¥ðð¬ ð¬ðšðŠðð«ðð¬, ð©ðð«ðš ð©ðšðððŠðšð¬ ðð§ððšð§ðð«ðð«ð¥ð ð¬ð¢ ðŠð¢ð«ððŠðšð¬ ðŠðÌð¬ ðð¥ð¥ðÌ ðð ð¥ðð¬ ðð©ðð«ð¢ðð§ðð¢ðð¬. ¿ððð¬ ð ðð¬ð ðŠð®ð£ðð« ðð¥ð¥ð¢Ì? ðð ðªð®ð ð¬ðšð¬ðð¢ðð§ð ðð¥ ðð¢ððšÌð§ ð¯ððð¢Ìðš. ðð¥ð¥ð ðð¬ ð¥ð ðð¥ðð¯ð».
ðð¥ ð£ðšð¯ðð§ ð¬ð¢ð ð®ð¢ðšÌ ð¥ð ðŠð¢ð«ððð ððð¥ ðð§ðð¢ðð§ðš ð² ð¯ð¢ðš ð ð¥ð ðŠð®ð£ðð«. ðð®ð¬ ðšð£ðšð¬ ðð¬ððððð§ ð¥ð¥ðð§ðšð¬ ðð ðð«ð¢ð¬ððð³ð ð² ððð¬ðð¬ð©ðð«ððð¢ðšÌð§. «¿ðð®ðÌ ðð¢ðð§ð ðªð®ð ð¯ðð« ðð¥ð¥ð ððšð§ ððšððš ðð¬ððš?»
ðð¥ ðð§ðð¢ðð§ðš ð¬ð ð¢ð§ðð¥ð¢ð§ðšÌ ð¡ððð¢ð ðð¥ ð£ðšð¯ðð§ ð² ð¬ð®ð¬ð®ð«ð«ðšÌ: «ðð¥ð¥ð ðð¬ ð¥ð ðŠðð§ð¬ðð£ðð«ð ðð ð¥ð ð¯ðð«ððð. ðð ðð¬ððððš ðð§ ðð¬ðð ððšð¥ð ðð®ð«ðð§ðð ðð¢Ìðð¬, ð¥ð®ðð¡ðð§ððš ð©ðšð« ð®ð§ ð©ðšððš ðð ððšðŠðð®ð¬ðð¢ðð¥ð ð©ðð«ð ð¬ð® ðððŠð¢ð¥ð¢ð. ððð«ðš ð§ðš ðð¬ ð¬ðšð¥ðš ð¥ð ð ðð¬ðšð¥ð¢ð§ð ð¥ðš ðªð®ð ðð®ð¬ðð. ðð¬ ð¥ð ð£ð®ð¬ðð¢ðð¢ð, ð¥ð ð¢ð ð®ðð¥ððð, ð¥ð ðð¬ð©ðð«ðð§ð³ð».
ðð¥ ð£ðšð¯ðð§ ðð«ð®ð§ðð¢ðšÌ ðð¥ ððð§Ìðš. «¿ð ððšÌðŠðš ð©ðšðððŠðšð¬ ðð²ð®ððð«ð¥ð?»
ðð¥ ðð§ðð¢ðð§ðš ð¬ðšð§ð«ð¢ðšÌ. «ðððððŠðšð¬ ð®ð§ð¢ð«ð§ðšð¬. ððð£ðð« ðð ð¥ðððš ð§ð®ðð¬ðð«ðð¬ ðð¢ððð«ðð§ðð¢ðð¬ ð² ðð®ð¬ððð« ð«ðð¬ð©ð®ðð¬ððð¬ ð£ð®ð§ððšð¬. ððð¥ ð¯ðð³ ð§ðš ð©ðšðððŠðšð¬ ðððŠðð¢ðð« ððšððš ðð¥ ð¬ð¢ð¬ðððŠð, ð©ðð«ðš ð©ðšðððŠðšð¬ ðŠðð«ððð« ð¥ð ðð¢ððð«ðð§ðð¢ð ð©ðð«ð ðð¥ð¥ð ð² ð©ðð«ð ððšððšð¬ ð¥ðšð¬ ðªð®ð ð¬ð®ðð«ðð§Â».
ðð¬ð¢Ì, ðð¥ ðð§ðð¢ðð§ðš ð² ðð¥ ð£ðšð¯ðð§ ððšðŠðð§ð³ðð«ðšð§ ð ð¡ððð¥ðð« ððšð§ ð¥ðšð¬ ðððŠðÌð¬ ðð§ ð¥ð ðð¢ð¥ð. ððšðŠð©ðð«ðð¢ðð«ðšð§ ð¡ð¢ð¬ððšð«ð¢ðð¬, ðð«ð®ð¬ðð«ððð¢ðšð§ðð¬ ð² ð¬ð®ðð§Ìðšð¬. ððð¬ðð®ðð«ð¢ðð«ðšð§ ðªð®ð ðŠð®ðð¡ðšð¬ ðð¬ððððð§ ðð¢ð¬ð©ð®ðð¬ððšð¬ ð ð¥ð®ðð¡ðð« ð©ðšð« ð®ð§ ðððŠðð¢ðš ð«ððð¥.
ðð ðŠð®ð£ðð« ððšð§ ðð¥ ðð¢ððšÌð§ ð¯ððð¢Ìðš ð¬ð ð®ð§ð¢ðšÌ ð ð¥ð ððšð§ð¯ðð«ð¬ððð¢ðšÌð§. «ððš ð©ð®ðððš ðªð®ðððð«ðŠð ðð ðð«ðð³ðšð¬ ðð«ð®ð³ðððšð¬. ðð¢ ðððŠð¢ð¥ð¢ð ð§ðððð¬ð¢ðð ðð¬ðð ð ðð¬ðšð¥ð¢ð§ð, ð©ðð«ðš ðððŠðð¢ðÌð§ ð§ðððð¬ð¢ðð ð®ð§ ðŠð®ð§ððš ðŠðð£ðšð«Â».
ðð ððšð¥ð ðð ð¥ð ðð¬ðððð¢ðšÌð§ ðð ððšðŠðð®ð¬ðð¢ðð¥ð ð¬ð ððšð§ð¯ð¢ð«ðð¢ðšÌ ðð§ ð®ð§ ð¥ð®ð ðð« ðð ð«ðð¬ð¢ð¬ððð§ðð¢ð. ððšð¬ ð«ð®ðŠðšð«ðð¬ ðð ð®ð§ð ð«ðð¯ð®ðð¥ðð ð¬ð ðð±ððð§ðð¢ðð«ðšð§ ððšðŠðš ðð¥ ðð®ðð ðš. ððšð¬ ð©ðšððð«ðšð¬ðšð¬ ðððŠðð¥ðð«ðšð§ ðð§ðð ð¥ð ð©ðšð¬ð¢ðð¢ð¥ð¢ððð ðð ð©ðð«ððð« ð¬ð® ððšð§ðð«ðšð¥.
ðð ð¯ðð«ððð ððŠðð«ð ð¢ðšÌ ð¥ðð§ðððŠðð§ðð. ððšð¬ ð¢ð§ððð«ðð¬ðð¬ ðšðð®ð¥ððšð¬ ðððð«ðÌð¬ ðð ð¥ð ðð¬ððð¬ðð³ ðð ððšðŠðð®ð¬ðð¢ðð¥ð ð¬ð ð«ðð¯ðð¥ðð«ðšð§. ððð¬ ðŠðð§ðð¢ð«ðð¬ ð¬ð ððð¬ðŠðšð«ðšð§ðð«ðšð§, ð² ð¥ð ðð¬ð©ðð«ðð§ð³ð ðð«ððð¢ðšÌ.
ðð§ ð¥ð ð®Ìð¥ðð¢ðŠð ð©ðÌð ð¢ð§ð ðð ðð¬ðð ð¡ð¢ð¬ððšð«ð¢ð, ðð¥ ðð§ðð¢ðð§ðš ð² ðð¥ ð£ðšð¯ðð§ ð¬ð ðð§ðð«ðð§ððð«ðšð§ ð ð®ð§ð ðð¥ðððð¢ðšÌð§: ð¬ðð ð®ð¢ð« ðð§ ð¥ð ðð¢ð¥ð ðš ð®ð§ð¢ð«ð¬ð ð ð¥ð ð¥ð®ðð¡ð. ðð§ ðŠððð¢ðš ðð ð¥ð ððšð¥ð, ððšð¬ ð¯ðšððð¬ ð¬ð ðð¥ð³ðð«ðšð§, ð®ð§ð ð¡ððð¥ðð§ððš ðð ðŠðð§ðð¢ð«ðð¬ ð² ð¥ð ðšðð«ð ðð ð¯ðð«ððððð¬. ððð«ðš ðð§ ðð¬ð ðŠðšðŠðð§ððš, ððŠððšð¬ ððšðŠð©ðð«ðð¢ðð«ðšð§ ð®ð§ ð¢ðððð¥. ðð ð¥ð®ðð¡ð ð©ðšð« ð¥ð ð¯ðð«ððð ð² ð¥ð ðð®ð¬ðð¢ðð¢ð, ð¯ðð¥ðšð«ðð¬ ðŠðÌð¬ ð¢ðŠð©ðšð«ððð§ððð¬ ðªð®ð ðð®ðð¥ðªð®ð¢ðð« ððð§ðªð®ð ð¥ð¥ðð§ðš ðð ð ðð¬ðšð¥ð¢ð§ð. ð ðð¬ð¢Ì ððšð§ðð¢ð§ð®ðð«ðšð§, ðð¬ð©ðð«ðð§ððš ð£ð®ð§ððšð¬, ðð§ ðð®ð¬ðð ðð ð«ðð¬ð©ð®ðð¬ððð¬ ðð§ ð®ð§ ðŠð®ð§ððš ðð®ð«ðð¢ðš ð² ððšð§ðð®ð¬ðš.
Ven y participa que aún estás a tiempo Cuéntame una historia
CRÃDITOS:
Imágenes generada con IA: Copiloto de Microsoft
TÃtulos: CoolText
ð****ð****ð****ð****ð****ð****ð****ð****ð****ð
Dedicado a todos aquellos que contribuyen, dÃa a dÃa, a hacer de nuestro planeta, un mundo mejor.
On É sunny Éfternoon, Ét the desolÉte fuel stÉtion, two figures met in the endless queue. One wÉs É stooped old mÉn with deep wrinkles Énd tired eyes. The other, Én impÉtient young mÉn, with É defiÉnt look Énd É contemptuous Éttitude.
The old mÉn, leÉning on his cÉne, looked Ét the young mÉn Énd begÉn to speÉk in É trembling voice: âYou see this fuel stÉtion? It is É lie. A fÉçÉde thÉt hides the reÉl reÉson behind this endless queue. There is no petrol here, only illusions Énd broken hopesâ.
The young mÉn lÉughed scornfully, âAnd whÉt do you know, Ére you É prophet or É visionÉry?â
The old mÉn smiled sÉdly. âI'm neither, but I've lived long enough to recognise the truth. This gÉs stÉtion is just É screen, É smokescreen to distrÉct us from reÉlity. The reÉl reÉson behind this fuel shortÉge is much deeper.â
The young mÉn frowned. âAnd whÉt is thÉt reÉson, grÉndfÉther?â
The old mÉn leÉned towÉrds him Énd whispered, âIt is power. Those who control the fuel supplies Élso control our lives. They keep us in this line, desperÉte Énd dependent. MeÉnwhile, they line their pockets with obscene profitsâ.
The young mÉn wÉs thoughtful. âBut who is telling the truth then?â
The old mÉn, his voice trembling, continued: âThe truth is hidden in the shÉdows, but we cÉn find it if we look beyond ÉppeÉrÉnces. See thÉt womÉn over there? The one holding the empty bÉrrel. She is the key.
The young mÉn followed the old mÉn's gÉze Énd sÉw the womÉn. Her eyes were full of sÉdness Énd despÉir. âWhÉt hÉs she got to do with Éll this?â
The old mÉn leÉned towÉrds the young mÉn Énd whispered, âShe is the messenger of truth. She's been in this queue for dÉys, fighting for É little fuel for her fÉmily. But it's not just petrol she's Éfter. It's justice, it's equÉlity, it's hopeâ.
The young mÉn frowned. âAnd how cÉn we help her?â
The old mÉn smiled. âWe must come together. Put Éside our differences Énd seek Énswers together. We mÉy not be Éble to chÉnge the whole system, but we cÉn mÉke É difference for her Énd for Éll those who suffer.â
So the old mÉn Énd the young mÉn begÉn to tÉlk to the others in line. They shÉred stories, frustrÉtions, Énd dreÉms. They discovered thÉt mÉny were willing to fight for reÉl chÉnge.
The womÉn with the empty jerry cÉn join the conversÉtion. âI cÉn't sit idly by. My fÉmily needs this petrol, but they Élso need É better worldâ.
The queue Ét the fuel stÉtion becÉme É plÉce of resistÉnce. Rumours of É revolt spreÉd like wildfire. The powerful trembled Ét the prospect of losing their control.
The truth slowly emerged. The hidden interests behind the fuel shortÉges were reveÉled. Lies crumbled, Énd hope grew.
On the lÉst pÉge of this story, the old mÉn Énd the young mÉn fÉced É choice: stÉy in line or join the fight. In the middle of the queue, two voices were rÉised, one speÉking lies Énd the other truths. But in thÉt moment, both shÉred Én ideÉl. The struggle for truth Énd Justice, vÉlues more importÉnt thÉn Ény tÉnk full of petrol. And so they continued, wÉiting together, seÉrching for Énswers in É murky Énd confusing world.
Come and participate because you still have, time Tell me a story
CREDITS:
Image generated with AI: Microsoft Copilot
ð****ð****ð****ð****ð****ð****ð****ð****ð****ð
Dedicated to all those poets who contribute, day by day, to make our planet a better world.
Ven y participa que aún estás a tiempo Cuéntame una historia
CRÃDITOS:
Imágenes generada con IA: Copiloto de Microsoft
TÃtulos: CoolText
Dedicado a todos aquellos que contribuyen, dÃa a dÃa, a hacer de nuestro planeta, un mundo mejor.
On É sunny Éfternoon, Ét the desolÉte fuel stÉtion, two figures met in the endless queue. One wÉs É stooped old mÉn with deep wrinkles Énd tired eyes. The other, Én impÉtient young mÉn, with É defiÉnt look Énd É contemptuous Éttitude.
The old mÉn, leÉning on his cÉne, looked Ét the young mÉn Énd begÉn to speÉk in É trembling voice: âYou see this fuel stÉtion? It is É lie. A fÉçÉde thÉt hides the reÉl reÉson behind this endless queue. There is no petrol here, only illusions Énd broken hopesâ.
The young mÉn lÉughed scornfully, âAnd whÉt do you know, Ére you É prophet or É visionÉry?â
The old mÉn smiled sÉdly. âI'm neither, but I've lived long enough to recognise the truth. This gÉs stÉtion is just É screen, É smokescreen to distrÉct us from reÉlity. The reÉl reÉson behind this fuel shortÉge is much deeper.â
The young mÉn frowned. âAnd whÉt is thÉt reÉson, grÉndfÉther?â
The old mÉn leÉned towÉrds him Énd whispered, âIt is power. Those who control the fuel supplies Élso control our lives. They keep us in this line, desperÉte Énd dependent. MeÉnwhile, they line their pockets with obscene profitsâ.
The young mÉn wÉs thoughtful. âBut who is telling the truth then?â
The old mÉn, his voice trembling, continued: âThe truth is hidden in the shÉdows, but we cÉn find it if we look beyond ÉppeÉrÉnces. See thÉt womÉn over there? The one holding the empty bÉrrel. She is the key.
The young mÉn followed the old mÉn's gÉze Énd sÉw the womÉn. Her eyes were full of sÉdness Énd despÉir. âWhÉt hÉs she got to do with Éll this?â
The old mÉn leÉned towÉrds the young mÉn Énd whispered, âShe is the messenger of truth. She's been in this queue for dÉys, fighting for É little fuel for her fÉmily. But it's not just petrol she's Éfter. It's justice, it's equÉlity, it's hopeâ.
The young mÉn frowned. âAnd how cÉn we help her?â
The old mÉn smiled. âWe must come together. Put Éside our differences Énd seek Énswers together. We mÉy not be Éble to chÉnge the whole system, but we cÉn mÉke É difference for her Énd for Éll those who suffer.â
So the old mÉn Énd the young mÉn begÉn to tÉlk to the others in line. They shÉred stories, frustrÉtions, Énd dreÉms. They discovered thÉt mÉny were willing to fight for reÉl chÉnge.
The womÉn with the empty jerry cÉn join the conversÉtion. âI cÉn't sit idly by. My fÉmily needs this petrol, but they Élso need É better worldâ.
The queue Ét the fuel stÉtion becÉme É plÉce of resistÉnce. Rumours of É revolt spreÉd like wildfire. The powerful trembled Ét the prospect of losing their control.
The truth slowly emerged. The hidden interests behind the fuel shortÉges were reveÉled. Lies crumbled, Énd hope grew.
On the lÉst pÉge of this story, the old mÉn Énd the young mÉn fÉced É choice: stÉy in line or join the fight. In the middle of the queue, two voices were rÉised, one speÉking lies Énd the other truths. But in thÉt moment, both shÉred Én ideÉl. The struggle for truth Énd Justice, vÉlues more importÉnt thÉn Ény tÉnk full of petrol. And so they continued, wÉiting together, seÉrching for Énswers in É murky Énd confusing world.
Come and participate because you still have, time Tell me a story
CREDITS:
Image generated with AI: Microsoft Copilot
ð****ð****ð****ð****ð****ð****ð****ð****ð****ð
Dedicated to all those poets who contribute, day by day, to make our planet a better world.
Dedicado a todos aquellos que contribuyen, dÃa a dÃa, a hacer de nuestro planeta, un mundo mejor.
On É sunny Éfternoon, Ét the desolÉte fuel stÉtion, two figures met in the endless queue. One wÉs É stooped old mÉn with deep wrinkles Énd tired eyes. The other, Én impÉtient young mÉn, with É defiÉnt look Énd É contemptuous Éttitude.
The old mÉn, leÉning on his cÉne, looked Ét the young mÉn Énd begÉn to speÉk in É trembling voice: âYou see this fuel stÉtion? It is É lie. A fÉçÉde thÉt hides the reÉl reÉson behind this endless queue. There is no petrol here, only illusions Énd broken hopesâ.
The young mÉn lÉughed scornfully, âAnd whÉt do you know, Ére you É prophet or É visionÉry?â
The old mÉn smiled sÉdly. âI'm neither, but I've lived long enough to recognise the truth. This gÉs stÉtion is just É screen, É smokescreen to distrÉct us from reÉlity. The reÉl reÉson behind this fuel shortÉge is much deeper.â
The young mÉn frowned. âAnd whÉt is thÉt reÉson, grÉndfÉther?â
The old mÉn leÉned towÉrds him Énd whispered, âIt is power. Those who control the fuel supplies Élso control our lives. They keep us in this line, desperÉte Énd dependent. MeÉnwhile, they line their pockets with obscene profitsâ.
The young mÉn wÉs thoughtful. âBut who is telling the truth then?â
The old mÉn, his voice trembling, continued: âThe truth is hidden in the shÉdows, but we cÉn find it if we look beyond ÉppeÉrÉnces. See thÉt womÉn over there? The one holding the empty bÉrrel. She is the key.
The young mÉn followed the old mÉn's gÉze Énd sÉw the womÉn. Her eyes were full of sÉdness Énd despÉir. âWhÉt hÉs she got to do with Éll this?â
The old mÉn leÉned towÉrds the young mÉn Énd whispered, âShe is the messenger of truth. She's been in this queue for dÉys, fighting for É little fuel for her fÉmily. But it's not just petrol she's Éfter. It's justice, it's equÉlity, it's hopeâ.
The young mÉn frowned. âAnd how cÉn we help her?â
The old mÉn smiled. âWe must come together. Put Éside our differences Énd seek Énswers together. We mÉy not be Éble to chÉnge the whole system, but we cÉn mÉke É difference for her Énd for Éll those who suffer.â
So the old mÉn Énd the young mÉn begÉn to tÉlk to the others in line. They shÉred stories, frustrÉtions, Énd dreÉms. They discovered thÉt mÉny were willing to fight for reÉl chÉnge.
The womÉn with the empty jerry cÉn join the conversÉtion. âI cÉn't sit idly by. My fÉmily needs this petrol, but they Élso need É better worldâ.
The queue Ét the fuel stÉtion becÉme É plÉce of resistÉnce. Rumours of É revolt spreÉd like wildfire. The powerful trembled Ét the prospect of losing their control.
The truth slowly emerged. The hidden interests behind the fuel shortÉges were reveÉled. Lies crumbled, Énd hope grew.
On the lÉst pÉge of this story, the old mÉn Énd the young mÉn fÉced É choice: stÉy in line or join the fight. In the middle of the queue, two voices were rÉised, one speÉking lies Énd the other truths. But in thÉt moment, both shÉred Én ideÉl. The struggle for truth Énd Justice, vÉlues more importÉnt thÉn Ény tÉnk full of petrol. And so they continued, wÉiting together, seÉrching for Énswers in É murky Énd confusing world.
Come and participate because you still have, time Tell me a story
CREDITS:
Image generated with AI: Microsoft Copilot
ð****ð****ð****ð****ð****ð****ð****ð****ð****ð
Dedicated to all those poets who contribute, day by day, to make our planet a better world.
Come and participate because you still have, time Tell me a story
CREDITS:
Image generated with AI: Microsoft Copilot
Dedicated to all those poets who contribute, day by day, to make our planet a better world.
