An old saying says that
we find out who we are by what we do, as we find out what we deserve by what
makes us suffer. Each man is a star for itself, everything happens always and
never and each human being is a sanctity. At the moment of man's death the whole
treasure dies with him and without people, their experience, destinies and
events there's no true history of one civilisation, one nation. History is dead
and empty without them. Empty is also the truth about the complete and definite
loss of trace in time that someone has ever existed somewhere, whether or not
his life was interesting, fullfilled, troubled. With his death the traces of
man's soul as well as his unfullfilled wishes and imagination disappear. A small
man is neglected, doomed to eternal anonymity and absolute disappearance in
time. He lives only as far as there are living beings who remember him. Maybe
there was so much he wanted to ask, to say. His questions remained forever
trapped on the roads of uncertainty, at the door of hell, in dark and long
labyrinths. His words remained to speak silently in his endlessly sad eyes. If
life is all that is good, then why is it being taken from us? If it is all that
is bad, why is it being given to us? It is said that a man's life strength is
measured by his ability to forget. Man remembers if he wants to but he forgets
if he can. Maybe we'll remember the freedom, love and the rainbow after our
rain. We'll never forget who we are and where our grave-yards are. We'll never
forget the bottom we have touched innumerable times, the shadows on our roofs
and the song of the devil that is still ringing in our territory. Even during
our sleep we hear it calling us constantly. Again, it looks for tears and fear
in our eyes to confirm its power, but there are no more tears. Fears have been
carried away by its last ugly birds. Only the tired eyes and sadness, endless
sadness remained. In just one sentence Ivo Andrić described all the cruelty of
our little lives: "Only pain lifts man up to the enormous, endless love towards
people." Is it so? Is there a place for a soul among the stars? Is there a
clean, high place where the horror of the Earth doesn't reach? In life, there's
a line which once we cross, there's no turning back. Beyond it, hope dies last.
Beyond it, we don't look for salvation and shelters anymore, we don't sail or
sink, we don't wait for the tide. Beyond it, there are no more fears and
expectations. Only pain, memories and endless sadness remain in the eyes and
only one question: WHY?
Sadness in the eyes, author Suzana
Stojanović, 01.12.2008.
۞
Jedna stara mudrost kaže da po
onome što činimo saznajemo ko smo, kao što po onom zbog čega patimo saznajemo
šta zaslužujemo. Svaki je čovek zvezda za sebe, sve se događa uvek i nikad i
svako je ljudsko stvorenje svetinja. U trenutku čovekove smrti sa njim umire
čitavo jedno bogatstvo, a bez ljudi, njihovih doživljaja, sudbina i događaja,
nema prave istorije jedne civilizacije, jednog naroda. Istorija je bez njih
mrtva, prazna. Prazna je i istina o potpunom i definitivnom gubljenju traga u
vremenu da je neko ikad i igde postojao, bez obzira da li mu je život bio
zanimljiv, ispunjen, buran ili ne. Sa njegovom smrću nestaju tragovi njegove
duše, neispunjene želje, maštanja. Mali je čovek zapostavljen, osuđen na večnu
anonimnost i apsolutno nestajanje u vremenu. On živi samo dotle dok ima živih
koji ga se sećaju. Možda je hteo mnogo toga da pita, da kaže. Njegova pitanja
ostala su zauvek zarobljena na putevima neizvesnosti, na vratima pakla, u
mračnim i dugim lavirintima. Njegove reči ostale su nemo da govore u njegovim
beskrajno tužnim očima. Ako je život dobro, zašto nam ga oduzimaju? Ako je zlo,
zašto nam je dat? Kažu da se životna snaga jednog čoveka meri njegovom
sposobnošću zaboravljanja. Čovek pamti ako hoće, a zaboravlja ako može. Možda
ćemo pamtiti slobodu, ljubav i dugu posle naših kiša. Nikada nećemo zaboraviti
ko smo i gde su naša groblja. Nikada nećemo zaboraviti dno koje smo bezbroj puta
dotakli, senke na našim krovovima i pesmu đavola koja još uvek odzvanja na našim
prostorima. Čujemo je i dok spavamo kako nas uporno doziva. Ponovo traži suze i
strah u našim očima da potvrdi svoju moć, ali suza više nema. Strahove su odnele
njene poslednje ružne ptice. Ostale su samo umorne oči i tuga, beskrajna tuga. U
samo jednoj rečenici Ivo Andrić prikazao je svu surovost naših malih života:
"Bol jedini podiže čoveka do široke, neizmerne ljubavi prema ljudima." Da li? Da
li ima mesta duši nad zvezdama? Da li postoji čisto visoko mesto gde ne dopiru
strahote zemlje? U životu postoji linija koju kada pređemo više nema povratka.
Iza nje umire poslednja nada. Iza nje više ne tražimo spas i skloništa, ne
jedrimo i ne tonemo, ne čekamo plimu. Iza nje više nema strahova i iščekivanja.
Ostaju samo bol, sećanja, beskrajna tuga u očima i jedno jedino pitanje:
ZAŠTO?
Tuga u očima, autor Suzana Stojanović, 12.01.2008.
