By Agron Gjekmarkaj
Chronicle of the return to headquarters and the grief that Mamica caused me.
1) The second step.
Everything started from the beginning for me yesterday.
Nothing was like before. The magic of the illusions snapped like an old-fashioned wick. Cullak last night in front of reality. The black stone of Sisyphus rolled back on me.
After that symbolism, we went to the meeting one by one towards the headquarters. The news that Mrs. Garo herself would be waiting for us with coffee and kumel made itself known. The germ of the long conflict had to be tempered with a little sweetness.
It wasn’t like that. A sigh of relief spread like frost here and there in protest.
We were promised that after the battle he would appear for the salute.
I and Lideri in the perspective Gazi went as Luku with the thoughtful Tuku. Behind us Sajme Korreshi and Lefko Geshtenja as Coli and Loli full of joy.
The immense anxiety came to an end when Leader Muli arrived in Kryzevende wrapped in a tis of riddles and mysteries as time demands.
He prepared us one by one and then inspired us to persevere. Mondi moaned in pleasure. Gela froze in surprise. Durata Çupi, together with the glasses, has four eyes and sees hairs everywhere.
Oerdi has become a little more bitter than usual lately. Albana almost loved me so much that she proposed me as the leader of yesterday’s rebellion.
Ready that under my orders we go towards the sublime of the esfel. I missed you. He already has me. What will Jorushi think?!
What armed her innocence and answered you as if caught in guilt “but I, my blessings, do not know how to give orders nor receive”. Shortcomings with the ornament.
The party will be very disappointed with me in this regard, I frowned.
Nor was Salianji the one who finds an evil in every good and a good in every evil. Who knows where things are moving!
Arm yourself with faith in victory and other weapons. ran
towards war. Tritani was carrying an obige on his arm. Ludovic told him to find a mule, yes
admitted that he knows from experience that what is seen has value in politics.
2) Interpellanca Muço – Arbi – Mamica! They blink like an intermezzo.
We entered the hall. Women became our pride. They whiten our face. Ina was filming with one hand and holding a placard with the other. Against the Buchist regime.
The orchestra man would be envious.
The midwife carried all the nectar and nuri of the Government on her shoulder like a velenxe. Gloomy as if he had slept in a dream with the devil, Baba took the initiative to interpellate with Muço.
In the yard, Muço hyacinth called Blinken a colleague, forgetting his colleague Lavrov who sponsored him on a bad day (even Salianj would have noticed).
As the whistles came in the threshing floor, it was said that Blinken just as Babo was boiling the ceramic coffee for the hungry dogs, how did you do this to us?
Grandpa was confused. What have I done Padishah? The secretary of the great complaining country was .
For three months, Arber Agallia is no longer protecting America or himself from the dangers that are threatening him. He took the road to end this job in turmoil.
Babo calmed him down by telling him about his commitment to an interview on behalf of nobleman Muço. But it will protect you soon.
Bana kicked poor Arber out of the pulpit, telling him “you’ll be kicked if you come close”. Elda Hoti, like Tarzan, jumped up and took the card with a smile – “Fole?!…. I hit my chin”. It was precisely that Elda with an angelic appearance that drained the blood from the Qerretta’s eyebrows.
3) Ignition of Thesis and retrospective on the assembly
The aunt was dressed as Zelenski. Like an unburdened sorcalle of weather ran redeemed. He had read the speech in the Assembly by delegation. He carried the leitmotif “from victory to victory”. Yesterday, Beles, who feels the party in deje, brought him a coffee roasted in the southern fire under the vague gaze of Ogi, who smiles less and less at the fate of man. He took the cup as soon as the lightning was done. He will fight with the Nikoqiri who is the cleanest, because Ulsiu is not bored enough for the coffee to fall comfortably on his stomach.
Tony scolded me for my cynicism towards Hugh. I didn’t understand which of the Gods he was referring to because he lulled me to sleep with Baba’s psalms.
Costa i Gramozi and Lindite biting their Nynyka fingers for me “thoughtful kerratai/in Tabir there is no peace/with Fred Xhaferre side by side/behaved like him/”
Ismet Beqiri and Bujari i Lushnja looked at each other with professional rhapsodic jealousy.
They were entrusted to write the assembly hymn. Someone will win.
Ismeti was focused on the two trips to the bathroom of friend Gramoz, while Bujari was on Namik’s six-hour stay without moving.
While for that five minutes of Babos in Yzyrhane, a working group was appointed with Bafton, Damon and Braçen to understand who are the liberals and who are the conservatives.
During his absence, the weight and calm was entrusted to Klos, whom the hall respected with conversations.
Dilo’s speech was considered by the new minister of the corner, whose name is still known, as an impetus for success.
Babua dreams that one day everyone will speak like the good man Dilo, with that joy, faith and chastity. Gonxhe has started doing it. Chuchi is studying hard. Shalsi is believed to reach it.
Laerti still has caught that person. Ben Pllumi is doing well. Etilda corrects your mistakes. It is the mirror where they are seen. Snow gave me a pitying look.
4) The Enigma of Jorushi, the waiting for Mrs. Garo and the return of the warriors in search of the cure.
It is not known where Jorushi i Tabakeve was, either to leave us alone or to manifest her inner loneliness, who knows?!
She thinks somewhere far away, why don’t we take her like Ifgjinia to Aulida.
Carrying Luan Baci on my shoulders, wounded by the encounter, we returned to the courtyard of the headquarters.
Weakened by the wounds, torn by fatigue, we lay down under the oaks and cypress trees.
Mrs. Garo came down as if from the sky, put ointment here and there. Helidon Bushati needed a full cup. Bledion Nallbati begged with only a smile that the medicines should be saved, the vikati don’t be lazy. When I went to that commotion, Mrs. Kalaja passed by and told us “ah, çamarroka, çamarroka, enough vickla is thrown, not like this, not like that, but it’s coming to the Doctor’s earring, but don’t worry about it, mother”.
The leader in perspective Gazi applauded and said “the truth sets us free, we were slaves to ambiguity, we think the same”. Mrs. Kalaja told him I’m sorry, halal and hugged him like a family.
With a dark hood, tied with a rope, like Marin Barleti’s, the silhouette of Alfred Lele wrote “We are surrounded” and kept us under surveillance.
The chronicle closes across the pub where I’m sitting with a cell phone in my hand, Mimi di Puccini is playing because we both live in the same neighborhood but we rarely see each other even though the drops on the glass are green.
She gives permission for the day to become night and for the latter to heal the wounds of the day, of the sorrows and melancholy caused by not keeping the interpellation with Mamice. We were taken by that villain who longed for us to feel that socellima that makes big and small turbies.
