24 okt
Medina Čarkadžić

I am standing on the grass

Engulfed by the silent past,

Red letters spilt on white stone

Tell us the story of forgotten bones.


They were arrested, weakened, broken,

Their spirts crushed, their lives stolen,

Buried here where no one would see,

No chance to know how their lives could be.


A mother lost her son,

Her husband, brother, cousin and so on;

Her neighbour lost her dignity,

And she’s still searching for her humanity.


There’s no mercy or peace in war,

People were using it to settle scores;

The normal restraints are lost

No one notices the human cost.


And the human cost is big and real,

It’s something that cannot be concealed;

Memorials are a testimony to that,

People’s lives are reduced to a plaque.


The summer village has sheep grazing

Children playing whilst the sun is blazing,

But ghosts still live in these homes

Their names only living on the stone.


But the survivors still have to live

And some of them want to forgive

Because hatred can devour you whole

Leaving your body without a soul.


But I met a man with a generous soul,

Who had learned to trust and become whole

And I admire his will and kind heart

Because forgiving is the hardest task.

— Svi stavovi i mišljenja izraženi u tekstu su isključivo autorova i ne odražavaju uredničku politiku platforme Hoć —

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