Poema

ⲯ﹍︿

﹍︿﹍ 𝙷𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚘 𝚞𝚗 𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚘𝚝𝚊.

𝚄𝚗 𝚒𝚖𝚋é𝚌𝚒𝚕.

𝙻𝚘 𝚜é.

𝙼𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚕,

𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚍𝚘,

𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚜𝚊𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚋í𝚊 𝚝𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚛…

𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚖𝚋𝚒é𝚗 𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚘.

𝙷𝚎 𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚘

𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚓𝚘𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚎𝚓𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚕𝚞𝚣,

𝚢 𝚊𝚞𝚗 𝚊𝚜í 𝚗𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚎 𝚕𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚋𝚎.

𝙰𝚗𝚜í𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚛

𝚢 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚣𝚊𝚛, 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚗,

𝚎𝚕 𝚘𝚝𝚛𝚘 𝚕𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚑𝚎.

𝙴𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚘 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎 —𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚗—

𝚕𝚊 𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚙𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚜𝚊 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚜,

𝚢 𝚞𝚗𝚘 𝚢𝚊 𝚗𝚘 𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚣𝚊.

𝙿𝚘𝚛𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚎…

𝚜𝚎 𝚟𝚊𝚗 𝚊 𝚍𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚛 𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘

𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚖𝚊ñ𝚊𝚗𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚞𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚗,

𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚕𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚊 𝚗𝚘 𝚟𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚗𝚊𝚍𝚊.

𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚗𝚘.

𝚈𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚘 𝚖í𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚍𝚛𝚊 𝚑ú𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚊,

𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚞𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚕 𝚖𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚗 𝚎𝚕 𝚋𝚘𝚕𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚘.

𝚈 𝚊𝚞𝚗 𝚊𝚜í 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘.

𝚂𝚒𝚐𝚘 𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘.

𝙴𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚘, 𝚊𝚕 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚍𝚎𝚕 𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚜𝚖𝚘,

𝚞𝚗𝚘𝚜 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚘𝚜.

𝚄𝚗𝚘𝚜 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚘𝚜 𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚘𝚜, 𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚘𝚜,

𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚋𝚊𝚗 𝚕𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚍𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚖í.

𝙽𝚘 𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚛í𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚒é𝚗 𝚏𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚎:

𝚞𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚘,

𝚞𝚗 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚘,

𝚞𝚗 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚊,

𝚞𝚗 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚊,

𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚊.

𝚂𝚒 𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚞𝚗 𝚊𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚘,

𝚜𝚒 𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚞𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎,

𝚢𝚘…

𝚢𝚘 𝚕𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚛í𝚊 𝚎𝚕 𝚊𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚘.

𝙿𝚘𝚛𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚘:

𝚗𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚒ó𝚗,

𝚗𝚘 𝚐𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚊,

𝚗𝚘 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚍ó𝚗.

𝚂𝚘𝚕𝚘 𝚞𝚗 𝚊𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚘

𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚗𝚊𝚍𝚊. ﹍ⲯ﹍ⲯ﹍︿﹍☼