not tell you, this time, mission, initiatives, projects or plans, such as the cooperation of professionals who know how to call in recent years we have developed among the forgotten people of Serbia. And I will not do relationships. This time no.
Besides, what's to tell? We met
dignity and despair, negli occhi di persone che non sanno più come andare avanti, rabbia e impotenza, negli occhi di chi si batte contro ingiustizie e malattie, vigliacche come le bombe che cadevano dalle nuvole, invisibili quanto gli assassini che le hanno sganciate. Vite che vanno comunque avanti, anche senza un perchè.
E non sembrano esserci più perchè a cui rispondere, oggi. In Kosovo, in Serbia, ovunque.
So tell the back, because of fatigue, loneliness, crisis and stifled tears.
For the slender, petite, furtive as a shadow in the darkness of the monastery of Gracanica, which was coming towards me. As the souls of purgatory, we met again, in that dark, q
uella
loneliness ... "We ste Irina Sestriere? "-" Sister Irina You? "
" From "," Yes, "was her and she remembered our first meeting, four years ago, when Irina told me of his periodic visits and under escort, to the few who survived the pogrom of the Serbian villages in March 2004, villages in which they carry out his profession as a pediatrician, caring for and assisting children.
The face is no longer the same, the fresh and alive at the time. Even my no longer is.
" Zima " advances on the faces, stones, roads, unreliable realm of ambiguous and nervous passers-by, who stop off at a cafe. Gračanica night.
" Winter" progresses, whitening destinies and leaves you just want to cry inside.
For all those places that, far from Gracanica, in danger of disappearing forever. To tutte le suor Irina che rischiano di non avere futuro nel loro Kosovo e Metohija, da sempre la loro terra, la terra dei monasteri.
Quei soldati davanti l’ingresso del monastero presto se ne andranno. E se non lo faranno loro, lo faranno gli altri, schierati oggi a salvaguardia dei pochi serbi rimasti a vivere, isolati e ghettizzati, nei propri villaggi, mezzo distrutti accanto ai cimiteri dei propri cari.
Lanceremo un appello, fatto di parole, ponderate ed equilibrate, perché tanti possano sottoscriverlo e aderire a quel grido di disperazione e paura che, però, TUTTI!, dovremo urlare al mondo, unendoci a quell’albero, bruciato fin nelle radici ma che Boško ha portato in salvo, strappandolo al Kosovo and Metohija " released, making sculptures Simba
ol all the pain and despair of a people humiliated, disemboweled, poisoned, cheated. Shout
launched for all that human, cultural, artistic, risk extinction, but also to that shadow, I can not take away from the eyes and mind ... advancing shadow, in darkness and solitude of a monastery, one of many , but off the beautiful, isolated and dark, protected by military ignorant and distant, dissonant and unacceptable.
That shadow, a symbol of all the others that the Kosovo swallows, for years, amid general indifference.
No, excuse me, but I can not see or hear more, today, if not that dark and lonely ... no one else but the great desire that you choke the throat, crazy heart, flooding the eyes ... fear of death, with all this .
Besides, what's to tell? We met
dignity and despair, negli occhi di persone che non sanno più come andare avanti, rabbia e impotenza, negli occhi di chi si batte contro ingiustizie e malattie, vigliacche come le bombe che cadevano dalle nuvole, invisibili quanto gli assassini che le hanno sganciate. Vite che vanno comunque avanti, anche senza un perchè.
E non sembrano esserci più perchè a cui rispondere, oggi. In Kosovo, in Serbia, ovunque.
Il perché di una guerra, che ha regalato storia, arte, cultura, vite umane a mafie e narcotrafficanti, oggi al potere nel Kosovo. E ha consentito l’orribile traffico di organi, espiantati ai tanti serbi fatti sparire nel nulla dal terrorismo Uck, mesi, anni prima della guerra "Humanitarian" and for which there will never be justice.
So tell the back, because of fatigue, loneliness, crisis and stifled tears.
For the slender, petite, furtive as a shadow in the darkness of the monastery of Gracanica, which was coming towards me. As the souls of purgatory, we met again, in that dark, q
uella loneliness ... "We ste Irina Sestriere? "-" Sister Irina You? "
" From "," Yes, "was her and she remembered our first meeting, four years ago, when Irina told me of his periodic visits and under escort, to the few who survived the pogrom of the Serbian villages in March 2004, villages in which they carry out his profession as a pediatrician, caring for and assisting children.
The face is no longer the same, the fresh and alive at the time. Even my no longer is.
" Zima " advances on the faces, stones, roads, unreliable realm of ambiguous and nervous passers-by, who stop off at a cafe. Gračanica night.
" Winter" progresses, whitening destinies and leaves you just want to cry inside.
For all those places that, far from Gracanica, in danger of disappearing forever. To tutte le suor Irina che rischiano di non avere futuro nel loro Kosovo e Metohija, da sempre la loro terra, la terra dei monasteri.
Quei soldati davanti l’ingresso del monastero presto se ne andranno. E se non lo faranno loro, lo faranno gli altri, schierati oggi a salvaguardia dei pochi serbi rimasti a vivere, isolati e ghettizzati, nei propri villaggi, mezzo distrutti accanto ai cimiteri dei propri cari.
Lanceremo un appello, fatto di parole, ponderate ed equilibrate, perché tanti possano sottoscriverlo e aderire a quel grido di disperazione e paura che, però, TUTTI!, dovremo urlare al mondo, unendoci a quell’albero, bruciato fin nelle radici ma che Boško ha portato in salvo, strappandolo al Kosovo and Metohija " released, making sculptures Simba
ol all the pain and despair of a people humiliated, disemboweled, poisoned, cheated. Shout launched for all that human, cultural, artistic, risk extinction, but also to that shadow, I can not take away from the eyes and mind ... advancing shadow, in darkness and solitude of a monastery, one of many , but off the beautiful, isolated and dark, protected by military ignorant and distant, dissonant and unacceptable.
That shadow, a symbol of all the others that the Kosovo swallows, for years, amid general indifference.
No, excuse me, but I can not see or hear more, today, if not that dark and lonely ... no one else but the great desire that you choke the throat, crazy heart, flooding the eyes ... fear of death, with all this .
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