Who ride through the night with wild horses, with torches, which, like loosened hair, stream back in the great wind of their pursuits. ๐ark, but with a golden helmet that gleams restlessy. With helmets that flash the way mine does, now clear as glass, now dark, and old, and blind. Behind us the ๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ด๐ฆ๐ด ๐ง๐ข๐ญ๐ญ ๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ช๐ณ ๐ฌ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ด the streets slope back away from us, the squares try to escape us: we take them, ๐ฎ๐ป๐ฑ ๐ผ๐๐ฟ ๐ต๐ผ๐ฟ๐๐ฒ๐ ๐๐๐ฒ๐ฒ๐ฝ ๐ฑ๐ผ๐๐ป ๐น๐ถ๐ธ๐ฒ ๐ฎ ๐ฟ๐ฎ๐ถ๐ป. And one at my side blasts us space with his trumpet, which shines and screams out, and blasts us a black solitude we race through ๐น๐ถ๐ธ๐ฒ ๐ฎ๐ป ๐ถ๐ป๐๐๐ฎ๐ป๐ ๐ฑ๐ฟ๐ฒ๐ฎ๐บ:
ใ
คใ
ค ใ
คโฌช ๐๐.
รsqylรดuic Ddejลzฤr B.ใ
คใ
ค ใ
คโฌช ๐๐.
Jลgรกzie D`Volliesใ
คใ
ค ใ
คโฌช ๐๐ฟ.
Pratฤma ฤbijayaใ
คใ
ค ใ
คโฌช ๐๐.
Yayรก Viฤnnerรข๐ช๐ฒ ๐ฟ๐ฒ๐๐ฝ๐ฒ๐ฐ๐๐ณ๐๐น๐น๐ ๐ถ๐ป๐๐ฟ๐ผ๐ฑ๐๐ฐ๐ฒ ๐๐ต๐ฒ ๐ฒ๐บ๐ฝ๐น๐ผ๐๐ฒ๐ฒ๐ ๐ต๐ฒ๐ฟ๐ฒ, with a view to getting to know who is the big deal. Behind making all this happen. solidarity does not assume that our struggles are the same struggles, or that O๐ฎ๐ซ ๐ฉ๐๐ข๐ง ๐ข๐ฌ ๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐ฌ๐๐ฆ๐ ๐ฉ๐๐ข๐ง, or that our hope is for the same future. ๐๐ฐ๐ญ๐ช๐ฅ๐ข๐ณ๐ช๐ต๐บ involves commitment, and work, as well as the recognition that even if we do not have the same feelings, or the same lives, or the same bodies, ๐ช๐ฒ ๐ฑ๐ผ ๐น๐ถ๐๐ฒ ๐ผ๐ป ๐ฐ๐ผ๐บ๐บ๐ผ๐ป ๐ด๐ฟ๐ผ๐๐ป๐ฑ.