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 civilization, 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, fulfilled, troubled. With his death the traces of man's soul as well as his unfulfilled 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, January 12, 2008