Saša Milivojev

Saša Milivojev
Saša Milivojev January 2021.jpg Saša Milivojev January 2021.jpg Saša Milivojev
Native name	Саша Миливојев
Born	(1986-04-19) April 19, 1986 Zrenjanin, Yugoslavia, Serbia
🏳️ Nationality	Serbian
💼 Occupation	Writer, poet, journalist columnist
🌐 Website	sasamilivojev.com

Sasha Milivoyev (Serbian: Saša Milivojev / Саша Миливојев, born 19 April 1986) is a Serbian writer, poet, journalist columnist and political analyst. He is the author of three books, and numerous columns published in various daily newspapers. He is the author of the novel “The Boy from the Yellow House” and of political speeches. His work has been translated into around twenty languages across the world.

Biography

Milivojev was born in 1986 in Zrenjanin (SFRJ, Serbia), where he nurtured his many talents in the Music Gymnasium. He used to sing in the “King David” Oratorio by Arthur Honegger in the Arad Philharmonic Orchestra, Romania. After ten years of enjoying music, Milivojev turned towards the Faculty of Philology of Belgrade University, where he is a successful student of the Serbian Language and Literature. He is the author of two collections of poems: “Tajna iza Uzdaha” (“The Secret Behind a Sigh”, published in 2006 by Narodna Knjiga, Belgrade), and “Kad Svitac Odleti” (“When the Firefly is Gone”, in Serbian, English and Arabic, Filip Višnjić, Belgrade, 2010), a novel entitled “Dečak iz Žute Kuće” (“The Boy from the Yellow House”). He has received many awards, and his poems are included in several anthologies of poetry, including the “Panonski Galeb” (“The Seagull of Pannonia”) Vol. XIX, the “Rudnička Vrela” (“The Rudnik Springs”) Vol. XIX, the “Garavi Sokak” (“The Sooty Alley”) Vol. XIX, etc. Saša's verses were published in the book "Bequests 2012" published by the Association of Serbian Writers of Switzerland.

Since 2008, Milivojev has worked as a contributor to the “Pogledi” column of the Politika newspaper, and as of 2009 he has been writing columns in the Pravda newspaper, dealing with analytical and synthetic research in the recent and contemporary history of the Serbian people. By 2009, Milovojevs texts have been printed in about 3 million copies in various daily newspapers. He was one of the most read columnists in Serbia in 2008. and 2009. Hi is a political thirst strike idea creator.

Poetry

His poetic achievements have been introduced to Belgrade audience twice, in Ethnographic Museum, in collaboration with famous Serbian artists such as: Isidora Bjelica, Ivana Žigon, Jelena Žigon, Daliborka Stojšić, Eva Ras, Danijel Pavlović, Žiza Stojanović, Zlata Numanagić, Branka Veselinović. His poetry was recited by well-known actresses Svetlana Bojković, Ruzica Sokić, Danica Aćimac, Snežana Savic, Suzana Mančić etc. By their mutual cooperation, this young author has also been supported by Olja Ivanjicki, Zdravko Šotra and Marko Novaković. Journalist and writer Rada Saratlić spoke publicly about Saša's poetry at the very beginning of his career, when he was a protege of the theater critic and literary critic Jovan Ćirilov. Journalist Olga Stojanović wrote a review for his novel The Boy from the Yellow House which was published it in the Literary Journal of the Association of Serbian Writers.

He presented the first copies of the poetry collection When the Firefly is Gone in Serbian, English and Arabic to Academitian Vladeta Jerotić, Belgrade mufti Muhamed Jusufspahić, and Aleksandar Vučić. As a poet and journalist, he was seen in diplomatic circles, as a guest in embassies in Belgrade.

He has his poetic fans all over the world. Kairo reading public was introduced with his poetry in May 2010., by his book “When the Firefly is Gone”, while he was being present at various literary gathering where famous writers spoke about him: Soha Zaky and Alaa Al Aswany.

In Saudi Arabia, the journalists write about his love for God; in Egyptian newspaper (Al Akhbar and Shashati), Saša Milivojev is mentioned as a writer of mystical flight and meditation.

He recorded four songs in the studio, in cooperation with the heavy-metal group "Alogija", he sang his own songs.

In 2015, the Dubai Press Club tweeted a photo of Sasha Milivoyev and a text in Arabic claiming him to be "one of the most prominent columnists in the world."

With his book of poetry in English and Arabic, he traveled to India, Bahrain, Nepal, United Arab Emirates, Oman, Iran, Lebanon, Jordan, Saudi Arabia, Qatar, Kuwait, Morocco, Egypt, Turkey, Czech Republic, Bulgaria, Greece, Italy, Pakistan, to Kenya, to Tanzania, to Germany, Slovenia, Slovakia, Hungary, France, Croatia, BiH, to Ethiopia, to the Maldives...

In 2020, the esteemed Egyptian magazine Horreyati published his interview in Arabic as well as the poem The Pain of the World. And one of the most prominent and leading daily newspapers in Egypt, Al Dustour, published three of his poems in Arabic, the edition was printed in half a million copies.

In 2021, his interview was published under the title "Where has the Serbian Byron gone? Sasha Milivoyev exclusively from Dubai". in the column "Famous" of the daily newspaper ALO (Alo.ba). The famous writer Isidora Bjelica proclaimed Milivojev as "Serbian Byron" a long time ago.

In the issue of January 31, 2021, the Serbian Orange Star Magazine in the Netherlands published his photo on the cover and an interview under the title "Saša Milivojev - Banned, but still successful!"

He has been deleted and banned from Wikipedia in all languages, no one can create an article under his name in any language.

In 2022, his photograph, a newspaper clipping, an interview that the author gave to the daily newspaper Pravda in 2009 regarding the novel The Boy from the Yellow House appeared again on the Segodnya Today portal of the SB Belarusian Television.

Saša Milivojev is the grandson of stage, television and film actress Danica Aćimac.

The Boy from the Yellow house

The Boy from the Yellow House is the most shocking novel ever published in the world, an autobiographical confession after which mankind will never be the same. In copyright meditation of Saša Milivojev, the Boy-witness speaks about unimaginable horror he survived in his own country as a 12 year-old boy: about the Yellow House and camps, about kidnapped civilians and drinking their blood, about smuggling their organs and war crimes, about the most brutal killings and rapes, about incredible sufferings and ethical cleaning, about genocide and secret tombs...

The novel The Boy from the Yellow House has been built on several narrative levels, simultaneously discovering all pranks in close and actual history, discovering political dilemmas on integrations, territorial integrity protection as well as on identity of one sovereign country; on criminal and corruption, prosecution of the political opponents under the veil of democracy, on terrorist strategies and global jihad expansion. A blend of epic and lyric, narrative, dramatic and journalistic; on bombing and destroying of the genetic code; on friends' betrayal, lies, the criminals, the sectaries, false identities, psychiatric cases, drug addiction, prostitution, pedophilia, necrophilia; on the lowest levels of the human being and divine art; on hate and love, the way of overcoming anger, on peace, conciliation, global love and tolerance... speaks the hero of angelic beauty and an extraordinary talent, wide knowledge and fascinating performance...

The first copies of the shocking novel “The Boy from the Yellow house” - were gifted in 2012. by the author Saša Milivojev to Serbian politicians: to the prime minister and the minister of police Ivica Dačić; to the President of Serbia Tomislav Nikolić; also to Nenad Čanak, Milanka Karić, Oliver Dulić... Russian ambassador to Serbia Aleksandar Konuzin, Jelena Guskova, prof. PhD Rade Božović and PhD Nebojsa Pajkić, were also presented with his book. The legendary Lieutenant General of Yugoslav People's Army Stevan Mirković came to meet the young author on Kalemegdan on the occasion of the handover of the novel. Saša Milivojev also gave the copy to a judge of the Belgian Public Prosecutor's Office...

Although only 200 copies were printed at the cost of the author, a student of literature, the novel “The Boy from the Yellow House” was widely reported across the world in 2012. Readers and diplomatic circles around the world were shocked. His interview given to The Voice of Russia was translated into English, Portuguese, Spanish, Arabic, German, Polish, Russian, French, Serbian, Albanian, Turkish, Hungarian, Macedonian... and published in the Brazilian press, in Somalia, on the front page of Toronto Newspapers, then in prominent media such as: The Oslo Times; Ukrainian Telegraph; Armenia Today; Radio Television of Republic of Srpska; Barometer (Kyrgyzstan); Bota Sot (Albania), Glas Srpske; Rajoni Press (Albanian Information Agency); Ukrainian Phrase; Pravda and Blic (Serbia); Gazeta Shqiptare, Srna (Information Agency of Republic of Srpska); Lajme Shqip (Albania); Dal (Belorus), Beauty and Health (Serbia); Press Online (BiH); News Meeting (Turkey); Franco da Rocca News; Ruskije Novosti... The interview was published on countless internet portals and in newspapers around the world, and was also picked up by the Vatican. Pope Benedict XVI subsequently spoke to the world against the trafficking of human organs.

As a consequence Saša Milivojev has had big problems with discrimination in the Serbian media, but it is undeniable that he leaves an indelible mark with his name and photos being instantly recognisable in Serbia with his published titles even used in crosswords ...

Saša Milivojev photo gallery

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  Saša Milivojev 2021

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  Saša Milivojev 2021

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  Saša Milivojev 2013

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  Saša Milivojev 2021

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  Saša Milivojev in RIYADH, SAUDI ARABIA

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  Saša Milivojev - DOHA, QATAR

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  Saša Milivojev - ZANZIBAR TANZANIA

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  Saša Milivojev - PALM JUMEIRAH, DUBAI, UNITED ARAB EMIRATES

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  Saša Milivojev - NAIROBI, KENYA

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  Saša Milivojev - MALE, MALDIVES

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  Saša Milivojev - DUBAI, UNITED ARAB EMIRATES

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  Saša Milivojev - CASABLANCA, MOROCCO

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  Saša Milivojev 2021

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  Saša Milivojev - TAJ MAHAL, AGRA, INDIA

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  Saša Milivojev - TAJ MAHAL, AGRA, INDIA

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  Saša Milivojev - QURUM BEACH, MUSCAT, OMAN

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  Saša Milivojev - MOMBASA, KENYA

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  Saša Milivojev - BEIRUT, LEBANON

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  Saša Milivojev - COLOMBO, SRI LANKA

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  Saša Milivojev in KUWAIT

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  Saša Milivojev - KATHMANDU, NEPAL

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  Saša Milivojev - DUBAI MARINA, UNITED ARAB EMIRATES

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  Saša Milivojev - DELHI, INDIA

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  Saša Milivojev - GIZA, CAIRO, EGYPT

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  Saša Milivojev - AMMAN, JORDAN

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  Saša Milivojev - AMMAN, JORDAN

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  Saša Milivojev - JEDDAH, SAUDI ARABIA

Professor emeritus PhD Rade Božović about the verses of Saša Milivojev's "Pain of the world"

A prolonged and warning cry of Saša Milivojev is always and anew prompting us to carefully contemplate the world we are living in. Alas, the world is far too small for a true literate and must be treated planetarly. However, these verses of Saša are not sent forth from Pan's flute, they are wailing from Rumi's Nay, a type of Middle-Eastern flute. And it seems as if, they are once again embodying the warning and worrying words of Rumi "Don't sit under a tree with those that do not understand you, sit only with those who know and understand you. Sit only under a tree that is full of blossoms", from now on.

My Saša, it is hard being a poet in these times, dry and wasted. It is as hard as ascending the Axis mundi, the never-ending, invisible, heavenly pillar. The heavens are soaring and the earth is unyielding. A timber post is easy to climb - they have stirrups. But it is worth it, and it is possible, with help of universal thought and fierce words. I know Saša that you eagerly wanted to find the right words for the contemporary wanderings of the frightfully perplexed world. You succeeded in terms of themes, however, how does one find the right, unadulterated words for themes so terribly compelling? You have succeeded, oftentimes, with poignant thought, although sometimes suffocating the words with gratuitous rhymes... And there once again, just like Rumi's nightingale, who landing on the rose's thorn, still continues to sing. You were not afraid of the thorn. Although you walk on the thorns. Your cry is not coming from Voltaire's garden, it is a celestial cry from the depths of hell. For the One who is capable of hearing.

And so, in this vertiginous and puzzled world, the Jupiter and Venus are embracing, however, luckily, there are men who don't believe that man and the donkey are smarter than the man. You got that right, Saša. It is right to fight against that poison that is, in your own words "on the planet of the reptiles, piles of human corpses". Are we going to be burying them in cardboard coffins, the likes of WWII Britain?

Professor Emeritus PhD Rade Božović

Translated by Ljubica Yentl Tinska

Professor PhD Mila Alečković about the poetry of Saša Milivojev

Had it not been for a fact that I myself am a child of a poet, I may have failed to perceive the talent of a young man who lives faraway from his hometown, yet not far from his ancient archetype. Was Sasha Milivoyev born a poet, or is this what he had become, out of what breadth bears in its trail, that sharpens the senses and adds up all the sufferings, regardless. Milivoyev is simply a poet in the melancholy backdrop of the maker, who is sheltered and strengthened by his verses. Milivoyev knows that with poetry one transcends to timelessness, to infinity, to imortality and namelessness in which we become the twins and transmitters of Chist’s words, hence in his “Message After death” he says:

And I have died,

in antiquity,

and noone ached for me.

Some rejoiced,

young as I was, as I bled on the cross,

drenched in blood, in agony.

Not a single tear rolled down for me,

when they nailed my bones to yew,

the dzelats were singing sneeringly.

and I was smiling, forgivingly.

In that life so brief,

in that cauldron of hell

in the tarnished jaws

I begged for love with poetry,

fruitlessly.

Earnestly, the poet perceives the timelessness and supremacy of creation in which, owing to poetry no less, he forgives the numerous bypassers of life and looks at humanity from some other, altogether tranquil, distant angle. Milivoyev sings:

And as I have perished

to all I have forgiven,

soaring to Third Heaven.

Into the mountains of crimson jade,

Barefoot with the angels I stroll,

It is raining milk and honey

on the squares of the city of gold,

just as it did before.

Was there ever a true poet that did not dream of his own passing, especially being a melancholic? There is no poet that does not live a second or third life, through poetry bestowed. Sasha Milivoyev flawlessly perceives this ceaseless orbit, and hence draws to a close the most beautiful of his poems with these words:

Here, there is no pain and misery,

resentment and poverty, fear and sin,

by the beautiful streams,

sweet fruits are blossoming,

here, love is always waiting for you

when you come to stay from far, far away.

The poet is within us, although at times miles away. It is with his gift that he transcends through space and time. With his talent, Milivoyev embodies just that. That is why his poetry is an internal howl that discerns the futility of the subjacent world of suffering and grief. The greatness of the poet lies in living in the suffering yet speaking from the unforeseeable heights, transforming the suffering into a blessing and being triumphant.

Faraway from his homeland Serbia, Sasha Milivoyev is nonetheless close to all of us. He left, but he knows that here, for him, love will always be the way, when he comes from far away. The Poets Souls Society is always waiting for him.

At last, an old Russian song says: All you need is to look up at the dark and towering, star embellished night skies’ to see the one that is faraway… And so, I too, can now, at night, from the vast distance, see and hear the poet Sasha Milivoyev.

PhD Mila Alečković

professor of psychology and psychiatry, author

ex University of Sorbonne

International Society for Psychopathology of Expression and Art Therapy

Translated by Ljubica Yentl Tinska

The Emir of the contemporary poetry of Serbia - aside a British lighthouse

Scientific overview of the song - the poem THE PAIN OF THE WORLD. A prelude to the poetics of Saša Milivojev.

Penned by: THE NATIONAL PEST. Translated into English by: Ljubica Yentl Tinska

January 25^th, 2019

TO EACH TIME ITS EAST - THE EMIR AND THE TEMPEST

At the pinnacle of the Winter that was according to the global administrative calendar divided between the years 2018 and 2019, Saša Milivojev conceived a poem named “The Pain of the World”. Its title evoked memories not of Byron, yet of Shelley, and it is because of those memories that I rest these words of the Emir of the contemporary poetry of Serbia aside a British lighthouse.

ID OF “THE PAIN OF THE WORLD”

Served to the World, as a sizzling song, Saša Milivojev’s poem to be, “The Pain of the World”, clearly walked the content obsessed reader from Homer (has been or never was and whatever name bore he who recounted the atrocities of today) to Miloš (structurally, although it is known that Milivojev does not emulate), Darwish (Milivojev is also displaced, relocated poet, kindred by the inclination towards the exhaustive, brutal yet highly lyrical - although it is certain that one has not read the other), and Vasiljev (the reader being burdened by the textual legacy of the tongue in which Milivojev authentically sings).

Transcended to other tongues, fine-tuned to the rhythm of this World - not by what he addresses, rather by what those writings emit and by the inscribed - Balkan Soyinka, called Shoyinka upon a visit to Belgrade. How those who announced him, upon being awarded a Nobel Prize in Literature, pronounced his name, fails me.

BRINGING MILK TO THE FORE

Each man has his East, that is not necessarily one’s Source. It is a blazing South, that one shelters from in the Summer, and seeks shelter upon when fogs descend below street lanterns and seawolves (those old poets, even romanticists, post-romanticists and neo-romanticists) percept the lighthouses sheltering the cottages in which boils the water that is never to become tea. Who would drink it without the milk? Yet why is there no milk?

Why is there no milk? Those who perceive, consider and acknowledge themselves as Poets, not poets, scribblers or scribblemen are shouting out rather than asking. They are the ones - who have known from the very dawn of their perception that they were exceptional and this distinction they do not deny. They set it forth on their own accord, exhibit it and worship. They know how to capture the world and draw its attention to their extraordinary being. They are prompting the mankind to remember - that ambrosia, that implies immortality is of no significance, without that which nips mortality in the bud: It is not the air we live off, a new-born cannot survive on air only, without not ambrosia, not water, not wine, but milk, milk, milk. There have been and are but a few throughout the world who have been and are perspicacious, audacious and ready to voice this and Saša Milivojev is among them.

THE TROUBLE WITH THE POET

Saša Milivojev is a Poet. This is what he is by his perception and calling, followed by the self-awareness. One step ahead of the world, never turning back, boldly challenging the mankind and pointing his finger at whatever themes are eating mankind when he sings. Milivojev, therefore intentionally chooses what to sing and to whom. His is the song of everyman, however fundamentally addressed at men of power. How is this and why?

The answer lies in revealing who will not drink tea without the milk, and is tea what the word is about: the weather, as well as the entire reality of the world is not a good enough reason or a fair-minded explanation, justification and finally a valid excuse for the milkmaid’s son not having swapped around the empty bottles by the sailors front doors with the full.

Is reality accountable (Ah, that son of the milkmaid!) for poets spinning in circles (waiting only for the vampirished „beloved deceased“), or is it the poet where the trouble is? Could this be why he is not a Poet after all? Yet Milivojev is. And how is that?

MILIVOJEV KNOWS

Milivojev knows that the one who fails to methodically perceive the past, and perceives as the past what is considered to be tradition, who selectively approaches the thesaurus of human experience, the legacy in itself and one’s own native singing tongue, is not the selector of the motives, nor of the themes, yet rather the selector of reality.

Milivojev also knows what reality is: it vitally is what it is now, whilst essentially being what it has always been, including the present. Milivojev knows, that it is not the fate of Troy, nor the Vietnam war (neither as the actual nor as the processed “reminders” of the entertainment world, preserved as means of implementation of the new epic consciousness), yet it is the bleeding wounds, blown up body parts that are still warm and fresh corpses that count. Who is stumbling upon the limbs, whose body is reeking, whose fresh wounds are aching? Milivojev knows!

CATALOGUE

Milivojev knows and therefore addresses the mankind, pointing his finger to what a blind eye is turned. And it is with the gaze which is unmoving from the sight, that is more horrid than a nightmare, yet is our reality, that he reveals the culprit - not even having to name him.

From infinity to eternity all the seawolves of the universe, all poets of the world, have intertwined their verses with Her - a goddess, a muse, the beloved (with her sparrow no less, as did Catullus, (if those were some other times, I wouldn’t have to protect myself by mentioning the poet, because there wouldn’t be a reader around who would not know that I am referring to The Death of Lesbias Sparrow)), a mother, somebody’s wife and (unvampirished) beloved deceased (we could say her name has been Lenore way back from romanticism until today when and if speaking of ballads and - the motive), yet what is Milivojev doin­g?

Saša Milivojev is not pointing his finger at the ever guilty “woman” in “The Pain of the World” (although in his mother tongue the country is motherland, as is in Serbian tongue the unnamed, mysterious power of either kind), the woman is rather, as is the man, indivisible by sex and gender. She is there, she is present, as is the man, as a part of the cruel and unfortunate catalogue of our (not epic, yet real and empirically well shod) conscience. Our “Catalogue of Ships” however, accounts not for the ships and the ethnicities upon them, yet for corpses, corpses, corpses.

TO THE SEVENTH HEAVEN IT'S HEARD

Milivojev is the one who boldly and responsibly, with verses incisive and impenetrable, inscribes into the generic poem of the world and the universal human epos not tribes and mythical heroes - the future symbols of all and everything - yet human sufferers, human victims, humans who are children and the elderly, women and men that are on the other side of the lighthouse, where the capricious heirs of the fleets carrying tea decline, that there exist a different Other, the unbowed Other, free Other, who breathes and drinks, drinks, drinks milk.

Have the Empires foregone (especially the colonial, emphasised so in the post-colonial discourse) remained unlearned by their own recent fiascos? Are they unable to see that the heirs of the nobleman who once tailored the borders of states do the same today to the detriment of their own possessions? Is Milivojev, who sings not of London brimming with British Indians, addressing this, however non explicitly yet explicitly singing, weeping, to the Seventh Heaven it’s heard, about canyons brimming with the Afghans.

As colonial seawolves, or shall I say romanticists would say, Milivojev sings „colonially without a doubt “, bestowing the world with the consequences, consequences, consequences. While the Empire (which is also in Milivojevs mother tongue of female gender), remains silent.

TRIANGLES AND THE APPLE JAM

Let us go back to asking ourselves why is there no milk.

Although, by experience if not by reason, the learned wife of a seawolf, a good standing grandmother with a few greys, believes and knows why her grandson, used not to tea, yet to pure milk, not as hot as rather scalding, with four triangles of bread joined with apple jam, does not accept a single because. He is entitled to his mug of milk and will not accept shoddy breakfast, partially fulfilled role of the ancestors to nurture and feed him. And what of the upbringing?

Saša Milivojev has no illusions and is not afraid to say it as it is: the grandson of the seawolf does not want to be cultivated, rather to cultivate. He brings fear to the wind, and the cow and his own inmates - seldom sweetly, often fiercely, driving out the force as far away from home, yet the further it is, the greater it becomes. Carpets of bombs, salvos of missiles, kilotons of radioactive humanitarian food and fattening of the mankind with lies and misconceptions, it is what even a non-poet can see, yet only a Poet can, may and dares to perceive - loudly and clearly.

MUTATION

Cultivation and education impose boundaries on freedom to accept but a single fact. However, socialisation does not necessarily lead to finding understanding within the society, the nature and amalgamation of the two. It does not lead to accepting the culture, not even to walking in step with civilisation yet it does not alter them either. „The Pain of the World“ is Milivojev’s warning to the world:

The progeny is more likely to seek the existing culture and civilisation he is best suited to, and remain as its part for as long as and while it is so, then proceeding further and beyond - never to the South, always to the East, from West even. He leaves the South for the Ancestors - to warm their freezing bones and seek shelter from what they were unable to change. And it is the Winter they were unable to change, to rearrange, relocate to malarious regions. They have relocated, not temporarily it appears, merely certain people unworthy of changing and many, many customs and habits. One of them is - killing. Still, have the seawolves evolved at the least?

The progeny of the seawolves are no longer changing the world and freeing captured kings. Byron, even if he was to be born again, would not be standing side with the Greeks against the Turks, he would rather be assisting the Turks in establishing the romanticised order (in changing the Arabic with the Latin alphabet on the tables, so that „everybody would be able to read them“).

HE

Non-methodical revelation of the world, immediate riposte to the pain of man, to the very physical pain, unburdened by the literature and birthright, is the ubiquitous, pain of the world. The concept has therefore, complemented the content altering its scope. There is no violent death that is painless not even when it is unheard, brought not by machine guns, canons and other countless weapons including the cold. Truth be told, reading Saša’s, rather than some Germanic „Weltschmerz”, one wonders whether chemical weapons are equivalent to white arms.

There are no Romanticists left, without a prefix, in either Germany nor Britain, and neither are born there either. They are yet to come, but they must first be born. Their poetic and poethological ancestor has set foot on his chosen East a long time ago, reaching it from Byron’s South and Shelley’s East. He knows that the Epos is thisworldly because of reality that is its fundamental component, as much as he knows that reality is more than something to sing about or, in terms of this century, cry about. He knows, he sings, and his name is Saša Milivojev.

The National Pest

Daliborka Stojšić: "Saša Milivojev - The son of the soul"

(Daliborka Stojšić is a famous Serbian artist and ex-Miss of the former Yugoslavia)

WHEN THE FIREFLY IS GONE - reviewed by Daliborka Stojšić

When I first saw a photograph of Saša Milivojev in a newspaper, my lips spontaneously whispered: Tadzio! It was a reaction to his angelic beauty of the kind that once mesmerised me when I read Death in Venice as part of the preparation of a paper entitled The Novellas of Thomas Mann at the World Literature Department of the Faculty of Philology in Belgrade.

The Hellenic, Apollonian beauty of the young Pole that I recognised on his face, is often unaware of itself. It belongs to the kind so agonisingly loved by Thomas Mann, to those blue-eyed and simple creatures that need no spirit. It also conforms to Schiller’s principle of the naïve, as opposed to the sentimental, which separates itself from life, contemplates, writes poems and falls while dancing.

As I continue, I turn to Tonio Kröger, the novella in which Thomas Mann describes his poetics - i.e. his relationship with art - most picturesquely. The Tadzio of Saša Milivojev melts into the character of Hans Hansen, another of those blue-eyed boys that enjoy every moment, deeply emerged in life, favoured, fitting into the whole. Then I read the interview, a couple of columns and a few poems by this young man - still more of a boy than a man - and I realised that I had finally found an answer that remained lingering above my study paper: What would have happened if Hans Hansen had humoured Tonio Kröger and read Don Carlos? Now I know – he would have become Saša Milivojev. This beautiful, young, talented poet is actually a reincarnation of Kröger’s biggest desire. He is a Hans Hansen who has read Don Carlos.

Well-educated, ambitious, diligent, brimming with ideas, courageous and eloquent in his columns, vulnerable and frighteningly lonesome in his labyrinth, from which a small firefly, the carrier of divine light, will rescue him like Ariadne's thread. When the firefly is gone and darkness settles in, the embers will remain on the poet’s hands like stardust or heavenly fire, empowering those hands to heal the wounds of this world by writing poetry and transmitting the healing energy into those who read it. In this “Giant Boy”, as the famous sculptor and poet Boris Staparac named Saša, The Naïve and the Sentimental have merged perfectly, as perfectly as yin and yang, water and fire, light and darkness. Behind this angelic blue-eyed Tadzio hides an uncompromising, brave and articulate columnist and writer of the novel about the Yellow House: “I fall with the rain, courage is urging me to say to the people, NO” - and also a gentle, vulnerable poet who, free from the desire for commercial success, carries his firefly (an embodiment of his guiding star) and seeks from all the gods the answer of all answers: What is the meaning of our existence?

"Like haiku verses, the small, icy crystals of his poetry are condensed and reduced to the smallest number of words necessary to express the essence; slowly melting and dying in the heat of his dream of the desert, they lead us to endlessness, to the wandering stars, to the Fake Tears of the Moon, to questioning all the gods that preach about Love, gods who should finally become one, the all-seeing eye of the Universal Mind.

Saša Milivojev has evolved into one of the most inventive poets in the world! Besides impressionist moments, such as the firefly leaving and parting the Light from Dark, his new book speaks of the emergence of the fifth ice age. His lyrical subject travels through time, living all the disasters of the Planet Earth, from volcanic eruptions: Who protects you / From the burning rain / Now that you are gone, and the Sun melting away, to continental plates moving, deluges, global warming, poles melting, to Waves crashing and Towns sinking; Black mountains are crumbling / The locusts hiss all round / Gnawed bones / Float soaked”, and so on until the ultimate apocalypse and ice age. The collection entitled When the Firefly is Gone assumes prophetic proportions when pictures of drowning continents assail the reader’s mind. Africa is the last to sink, the water level rising over the tips of the pyramids, after which An endless plate of ice will be created; a camel will carry the lyrical subject as the victor, not unlike the epic heroes of old Arabic literature, but this time the camel Stumbles over the tips of the pyramids …

Finally, I would like to address Saša personally and give him my motherly support, as he is an encouraging young face of future Serbia, despite all the cowards, all the indifferent mediocrities, and all Soros’s payees: I whish you all the best, my beautiful boy! You have a heavy burden to bear on your shoulders. I see that some have already started accusing you of manipulation and ambition, saying that, by choosing the topic for this book, you want to achieve instant success regardless of the risks the topic may bear. Hang in there, fight and move forward. Many will hate you for your beauty, but I can see the sign on your forehead, the one written in invisible ink. Work hard and your dream will come true. I bow before the hardships and suffering you will have to endure; I bow like Zosima the elder bowed before Mitya Karamazov. I am with you, my little Tadzio!

THE SON OF THE SOUL

In the wake of creation

While I trod barefoot

Over the seething stars

My soul begot you

My son.

It lost you and sought you

Writing your name in milk

In the sand.

Screaming like Lilith for her baby

Speaking of you to God

Amidst the desert.

Through the mazes of cosmos

And the shrieks of dying suns

I descended into time

To bring you back.

Following the beat of computer bytes

Under a sea of websites

I found you.

On a young body

The mark on the forehead

Revealed you.

I will stay with you

And accept mortality

So I can follow you.

Those who love I will protect

Those who hate I will crush

Those who touch you I will kill

My son.

Just whisper my name.

Daliborka Stojšić

Translated by ALKEMIST

European translation agency

Olga Stojanović: Contro-version and per-version about "The the boy from the Yellow house"

Source: WRITER’S JOURNAL OF THE ASSOCIATION OF SERBIAN WRITTERS

Controversial young Author Saša Milivojev, a revealed columnist and the man in the considerable ascent, regardless of the confessional dives, among other things the Author of the book "The Love Recipe”, who - as the folk epos dictates – "Bears his left in his right arm” – Milivojev alias THE BOY FROM THE YELLOW HOUSE emerges with his novel at the time that overshadows even the phenomenon of the publicistic actuality.

With this shocking title and its sequent content, that is prominently Faction rather than Fiction, the Author insolently, in a manner that must pay off, expresses his gratitude appropriately to a certain longevous Dame, Instead of a Foreword... It is neither easy nor difficult to discern or confirm that the Dame is in countenance and deed once the Serbian antagonist No. 1, and today potentially the Serbian supporter No. 1, the weather-beaten and manly Carla del Ponte, as jargon would say: „A chick with a prick “!

With the elegance of a truly unbridled, and to the articulation often inaccessible gift, in the confessions of THE BOY FROM THE YELLOW HOUSE, Milivojev emerges as a very skilful Master of the dialogue, achieving what is seldom encountered in the great literature: THE PATHOS. Even the cover design is as brutal as the entire contents of the book, but it is thoroughly stylistically pristine, with a certain Arabic absoluteness that the writer is not unfamiliar with, and the reader may even grow enamoured with!

The book by Saša Milivojev is in a way current and conforming to our times, and no less but for its „abusive character“ because it hits the target that is difficult to vocalise in the free expression (Art form), regardless of how effortless it is to explicate it in the media. Milivojev opted for this initial, harder task, risking life, death, fall and resurrection in the first person singular, playing both parts simultaneously: the role of the abused and the role of the abuser, but in poeticism of his own.

This book should have an appropriate repercussion, even if it is in the alternative culture society. It should also be said that the young author has, in some reckless valour also surpassed the functionaries that will cognize in some nth millennium the genuineness of this case, in fact, he forestalled their insipid languor and corruptible courage.

The reading does not succumb to the literary nor pernickety critique, yet only praise for the very act that remarkably didn’t unbind solely this author in the moment of revelation. So be it PER-VERSION as well as CONTRO-VERSION, it is certainly as virtuous as it is brutal sub-version of any detention and withholding on measure. The measure of Saša Milivojev is a strong two lb of dough and four oz gratis.

Translated by Ljubica Yentl Tinska

Saša Milivojev - When the firefly is gone - Youth grappled in ferocious clinch, an underground critic by Milan B. Popović (poet, journalist)

Source: BLIC NEWSPAPERS, 18.4.2010

WHEN THE FIREFLY IS GONE is a book, significantly and distinctively diverging from the contest of domestic and even regional — Balkan, literary publications by being written in three languages: in Serbian, English and Arabic.

WHO IS THE POET, DE FACTO?

Saša Milivojev, acts from the shadow, from some kind of poet’s sanctum and a kind of bunker. He is, on some part, boyishly incorrupt and supremely regally aestheticized. On the other side of this reflexive quill, he is livid, valiant, trenchant and semantically extreme. At times it may seem that his poetry bleeds into a kiss, at times it bites vividly sinking its teeth.

The lyrical subject of this book is thoughtful, sacred, non-obscure and almost amply religious. He jumps off the rails of the ingrained faith, even of religion, onto an entirely new ones, disparate, but no less acknowledged. The lyrical subject finds itself in a certain spiritual but also entirely metaphysical intersection. At times he weeps, at times he pleas, sometimes he gives in, sometimes he gives up. He searches for himself. Nevertheless, he plunges into the most profound membranes of the pneuma piercing through all auras, velums, and even chakras.

If I was to travel to Cairo, Dubai, London, to all and every other destination in the world, I would surely take the book with me. I would even admonish the local, domestic men of the pen to leaf through it and peruse. To see and perceive what they have, due to the countless chores, toil and unread and accumulated material — overlooked, and are unknowingly or deliberately, intentionally or unintentionally culpable towards. To hear and finally discern the aching cry of the intellect, virtuosity and youth grappled in ferocious clinch of so-called life in this vicious altruists’ age of ours.

So how does one conclude? Not so far ago, on an unbelievably and exceptionally well attended promotion of the book When the Firefly is Gone in the Ethnographic Museum, the attending devotees of a poetical word, were able to cognise and encounter, silently and with great appreciation, the energy of Saša’s rhymical tear-offs that even the actress Ivana Žigon wasn’t unsusceptible to. They all knew how, your signatory included, to interpret and feel them. And how about you?

Translated by Ljubica Yentl Tinska

Saša Milivojev - When the Firefly is gone - Contemporaries about the author

RADA SARATLIĆ (Journalist):

I had a chance to meet Saša Milivojev, a young poet, and to read his first book while it was still in the manuscript. He wanted to hear my opinion about his work, and I told him the following: "No, I am not a judge, God forbid, God forbid."

I felt that there was something sincere in his poetry and asked him: "Saša, what would you like to be in life, but tell me honestly?" - We were at my place...

He told me: "I want to be a poet."

Oh, Mother of Crhist! I sat with my head buried in my hands... Hey! In Serbia!? To be a poet in yesterdays and todays?

I carefully listened to him reading... We cannot do anything else but support him. That would cost us nothing. We are all familiar with Miljković and his quote: "Killed by Too Powerful a Word". - He ended his life in a toilet in Zagreb, running away from Belgrade. I guess that we have had enough of killing poets in Serbia at the very beginning of their career. There is something in it; we have felt something. Let us never remove from the scene the poets, actors, artists, shoemakers, or anyone who has a heart and soul. Let all of them stay on their stage.

SPASOJE Ž. MILOVANOVIĆ (Dramatist):

"Saša Milivojev transforms his affinity for different forms of artistic expression into verses with skilful precision, amazing us with his musicality, picturesqueness, and the multiple meanings of each chosen word. The modern expression and structural complexity of his verses make him one of the most gifted poets..."

DANICA AĆIMAC (Actress):

"Of all artists, I have always loved poets the most, not because they have dedicated their poems to me, but because a poet is an intermediary between God and people. The poetry of Saša Milivojev is very unusual; it extends through several dimensions and stimulates some new senses in the reader. He communicates with abstract worlds in which he finds his peace. Because of his unrequited love - a love he gives unconditionally, he runs away finding refuge in various religions. He communicates with the universe, nature, and people leaving, whom he sees through his "dirty windows". He communicates with fairies, Allah, and almighty gods who have bestowed upon him the gift of a lonesome healer. Nine/Evening/A bright speck soars/Darkness from the sky/The spinning of a wedding dance. I read once that a firefly is programmed by nature to shine at nine oclock in the evening only. Sašas poem depicts the spinning of a wedding dance and a multitude of those bright specks moving in the dark. To me, it looks like the eternal floating of celestial bodies."

ZLATA NUMANAGIĆ (Actress) - RTS TV, Belgrade, 20.10.2006.

"I have been acting for so many years that I cannot even remember all the poems I have read on various poets' nights. I do not even remember when was the last time I had stage freight as I did at the promotion of the book by Saša Milivojev 'The Secret behind a Sigh'. It was primarily because of his very mature, serious and philosophical poetry, and on the other hand, I was not indifferent when I saw the audience - the Ethnographic Museum was full. No one would expect that a twenty-year-old Serbian poet could draw such attention from a Belgrade audience."

OLJA IVANJICKI (Painter):

"When I walk into a bookstore I do not look for books by famous authors who have already proved themselves in the belles-lettres. I usually pay attention to new names and books that have appeared quietly, without any pomp. All those books have different fates that are entwined with our lives. On the floor below a book shelf I saw a book with a cover of an angel writing verses in his own blood. I lifted the book, wiping the dust off it. The book was by a Saša Milivojev. I glanced through a couple of symbolic verses full of dramatic conflicts of the lyric subject and a dark picture of the world. It was enough for me to buy the book and take it home, hoping that I would find a ray of light in it, but I was disappointed with the lyrical exaggerations. However, when I turned the last page of the book, I realised that the author was very young and forgave him right away. More than two years later, he called me saying that he wanted me to hear his poems. He read a couple of poems that took my breath away. I saw a firefly that was gone and moved away from him like "The light speck/And the shore remains deserted," the shore on which the young poet was carrying the light in his hands and had the role of a healer."

ŽIŽA STOJANOVIĆ (Actress):

"He is unusually mature for his age; associational and deeply emotional He can soar into the heights, and descend carefully, when appropriate. Saša Milivojev is in love with poetry and beauty, unorthodox and uncatchable..."

EVA RAS (Actress):

"When I first met Saša Milivojev, I wondered what had become of us, what we had done to not understand a child, a twenty-year-old poet, how come we had allowed him to be so sad, that he felt all the burden of this world as if he had to carry it all by himself. I read his poems, but not out loud. Ages ago, everyone would read poems aloud, but in the fourteenth century Saint Augustine discovered a way of reading poems to himself only, and was therefore burned at the stake as a devil. I read Sašas poems like Saint Augustine did. I realised how sad this child was and that we should support him, as he is only twenty and needs to work on his poetry more."

LJUBOMIR KOKOTOVIĆ (Painter):

"I have a feeling that I have already seen what Saša Milivojev wrote in his poems, and I am trying to convince myself that "that has always slept deep inside me."

Saša Milivojev - Fantastic, gifted and honest young person rise out of the Serbian mire!

Saša Milivojev ? ... - He is exposed to severe political discrimination here, complete media blockade on his work on the one hand and derision of any word or move of his on the other hand, constant pressure and both insidious and open threats and intimidation, intensifying along with a sudden increase in international media attention he and his novel have been receiving lately. His literary work has been translated into twenty languages.

He is young, oh so young, extremely handsome, multi-talented, charismatic, a fearless truth speaker and brilliant political analyst with complete disrespect to authorities, a poet, a song writer and singer, an intriguing star in rise amazing intellectual circles, astonishing diplomatic circles, fascinating political establishment, provoking, unpredictable … But Serbia can’t stand it. Serbia doesn’t need it. Serbia doesn’t forgive it. Serbia must prevent it. And Serbia is all of a sudden very successful, very fruitful in preventing him, in hating him, in punishing him. Whole Serbia is for the first time united in its determination to silence him, to block him, to punish him, to teach him how to behave till he grow up…

Saša Milivojev ? ... - He is literally in the street, without money, alone... And he is just a sensitive, hypersensitive boy and he isn’t as strong as he seems to be.

The fact remains that he needs a safe environment and job to regain his dignity and start a normal life he surely deserves.

prof. Jelena Antonijević

The Voice of Russia, Interview: Saša Milivojev, Horrific organ harvesting lair described by an eyewitness

THE VOICE OF RUSSIA

29. October 2012. 15:24 Moscow time

“Live people were wrapped in barbed wire and thrown downhill”, – this is perhaps one of the “nicest” memories of the main character of The Boy from the Yellow House, a journalistic novel written by the Serbian writer Saša Milivojev. The author collected in one work just a tiny fragment of the atrocious crimes carried out by the Albanian terrorists in Kosovo before and after the NATO’s aggression against Yugoslavia.

The main character, a 12-year-old Serbian boy who was kidnapped in broad daylight and who almost fell victim to an illegal organ transplant in the notorious “Yellow House” in Northern Albania, where no less than 300 people, primarily Serbs, were killed. Many reputable sources claim that the victim’s organs were sold abroad, from which profited the leaders of the terrorist Kosovo Liberation Army.

As far as we know, the Voice of Russia is the first Russian media, which has published an extract from The Boy from the Yellow House, in Russian.

“I could sense the smell of chlorine, a weird smell, a smell of the hospital, of medicine. The doors opened and we were blinded by a bring light of the surgery ward. I could see the doctors and a person lying on the table, from his body they pumped something out with large thick syringes. I was just a child and I was afraid, I did not know what was going on. I felt sick. I could only see that the victim was lying in a cat position: the knees together with the spine curved.

We sat in the corner and waited for the surgery to end. The doctors were not wearing surgical gowns. They only had rubber gloves and aprons that were a light green color. I remember the floor on which I sat praying for mercy, surrounded by syringes, empty plastic bottles and gauze soaked in blood. The surgical table was huge… They killed the victim from which they drew the bone marrow, put him on a gurney and took out of the room. Then they brought the half dead person I had seen in the prison cell while I walked down the corridor. He was all yellow, wounded and was delirious. They gave him anesthesia. They were in a great hurry. They put on the surgical masks and prepared the containers. The victim was attached to some equipment, perhaps for sucking out blood. I began to loose consciousness.

I am haunted by horrible images. I watched them cut a corpse with a saw. The victim was wrapped in sheets, then in thick plastic. Then a few men came in and took out the cut up corpse. I was scared that they would put me on the table next, but I kept my mouth shut because I was afraid of the bald man who had his gun pointed at me. Since I was weak from acute hepatitis they decided to first cure me and then extract my organs. That’s when I fled that horrible house taking the horror of death with me. They say time cures everything. Time cures nothing. It destroys. What are inside me now are ruins, dusty, buried ruins.”

In his interview to the Voice of Russia the author of the novel Saša Milivojev told the story of how he created the book The Boy from the Yellow House whose main character managed to run away from the hospital and save his life.

When I studied the list of people who disappeared and were kidnapped in Kosovo, I found a lot of details about the horrible destiny of the victims. There are 1,128 people on the list – women, children, and priests. There was no trace left of them… I collected the material for the novel by talking to the witnesses who lost relatives in Kosovo… The author of a fiction novel has the right to make up things, but in this case I did not need to invent anything: there were sufficient life stories, stories of the horrible reality. I saw everything as if on a movie screen. I did not make up the war in Kosovo. I was also bombed in 1999 because of the made up Račak case, the place where the Serbs allegedly massacred the Albanians. It was the NATO that bombed the Serbs and gave the Albanians the green light to drive away and kill our people and to form a criminal state on the territory of our country with the help of the money received from stolen minerals and the extracted human organs of kidnapped civilians. And if anybody wants to silence the problem of illegal organ transplantation in the Balkans, it means that that person is either protecting himself or somebody else from justice or worldwide shame.

The novel The Boy from the Yellow House appeared to demonstrate to the World that we are not the most “genocide prone people in the World”, as they try to portray us. Serbia’s prosecutors need to make public the information about secret burials in the same way they made public the testimony of the protected witness, a former member of the Kosovo Liberation Army, about the heart extraction from a live Serb. This way they can prove the fact of the genocide of the Serbs.

Saša Milivojev - Operating room of the Yellow house

Auf jedem Wege, in jeder Form suche ich immer und ewig dasselbe: die Wahrheit.

We went out of the prison. Very fresh evening. Strange air. Painful song of night birds could have been heard. We came into the van parked near dense thicket. I was driven by Baldy, our road was absolutelly unknown... Darkness... Nothing could be seen except of occasionaly placed houses and the Moon, hiden among a number of clouds. The village was sleeping. I felt very badly. Nausea. Slackness. Sweat. Baldy was driving very carefully and didn't say any word all way long. He stoped the car, turned off the engine, opened the window... He was watching the Yellow House untill some people came out of it.

„Come on, go out!“ - he waited for me next to the door and grabbed my arm. We came closer to those people. They were whispering something while we were going into the house, known to me because I had already heard a lot of terrible and spooky stories about it in the prison.

We were walking towards the doors, whose edges hardly allowed sharp rays of light to penetrate. Smell of chlorine was in the air, very strange smell... smell of hospital, smell of drugs... Suddenly, the door opened and intensive light from the operating room made us blind for a moment. I saw the doctors and a man on the table; they were pulling out something from his body by large and thick syringes. I was little and so scared, didn't know what was happening around me. I guess, they were extracting the bone marrow because it also can be transplated. I didn't see the victim's face. I felt sick. I just saw the victim in position of cat, its knees wereput together and the spine was bent. That is why I suspect they collected the bone marrow. That was being done by the experts.

„We have to wait them to finish“ said Boldy. He didn't care I was crying. He could have let me go if he had wanted.

„I am so scared! I am scared. Are they going to kill me? Please, do not kill me! Don't, please!“ - I was begging in tears.

„Shut up!“ - I fell silent when he put the gun on my temple; all my body was shaking of fear and iciness. My legs were trembeling. My teeth rattled. We were sitting in one corner, waiting them to finish. The doctors were not dressed in those clasic hospital coats. They only had rubber gloves and rubber aprons, tied around the waist, all in hospital light-green color.

I remember the pathos on which I'm still begging in tears, surrounded by scattered syringes and empty bottles, as well as gauzes soacked with blood. The table for operation was very large. On a wooden rack, there was an empty bottle of infusion. I remember a small cabinet in which I saw pans, scalpels, small bottles of injections, package of syringes, infusion or waht ever... The walls were quite old, but whitewashed. That place was old but clear. I would say that all accessories were aseptically. I remember the blades' glow!

It was not a luxuriously equipped operating room: there were only the most essential things, instruments and apparatus. The victim, who whose bone marrow had been being extracted was butchered, thrown on the trolley and brought forth from the room. They brought a half-dead man I had seen in the prison cell while going through the hall. He was all yellow, in wounds, like a corpse, halucinating something. Anesthesia was given to him. They were in a hurry, put masks on their faces preparing some containers. They hooked up some apparatus to the victim, I believe it was an apparatus for suction of blood. I started to lose my consciousness and to see them in some fog.

I saw knives, scalpels, hurry and assault! Baldy took cocaine and started to snuff it. They throwed some nylon over us, I heard clinking of ice while I was vomiting in the corner. I spent much time waiting..and shaking... I saw Nosy while packing some organ. I was exhausted, bathing in cold weat...

Liver and kidney - several hours, no more than a day can be usable if intended for transplantation. That is some period in which organs are able to keep their functions. They packed the organ into the bag with ice, i remember: in that way the organ can longer stay usable and fresh, yes... Usual transport... Performed in plastic buckets wih ice. That organ must not be in direct contact with ice; some foil must be between i.e. there must be some material without any direct contact with ice, but in the same time material which absorbes temperature of ice: material which cools the organ. After being submerged into ice (not literarly because of that foil I mentioned before), the organ is also resistant to shakings. Avoiding all kinds of shaking is very important condition for escaping deterioration of the organ. Hm... I do not know what effection on that make turbulations in the plane, diluted air pressure and other weather parameters in the heights. I really can't help you here, but information that organs were being flown by plans I got from the security services; latter, I confirmed that information listening other witnesses. Even I got some orders proving an international transport. I think that optimal temperature for saving organs is 4°C. I really do not have any knowledge about medicine except on dermatovenerology. I have no idea on surgery, just talk what I can remember. Horrible pictures are following me. I have a severe trauma. I was watching them cutting the body with the back-saw.

When they wrapped the victim in the sheet, and wrapped like that into a thick nylon, Mustache Man opened the door and whistled. Several young men came and brought out a dismembered corpse. I was so scared that I would be the next on the operating table, but I was in scilence and in terrible fear of Baldy who held the gun pointed in my head.

Some women came and started to clean the table, to scatter it with some chemicals. One doctor was of the middle height, middle ages and fat. He had bulged belly, redish in his cheeks, with thick black eyebrows and mustache and with terrible eyes. Other one was taller, thinner, bloodless in his face, with huge red nose. They were speaking with Baldy: those were nurse and other medical stuff. I think in that hell of the house, there were fifty of them who were stealing human organs. I remember one black man and one beardy man, mujahedin. Who knows from which countries they all came there. They were running, going in, going out, altering each other... They made some analysis of blood results... Although I then didn't know what those words mean, I am sure they mentioned some components of blood such as bilirubin, hemoglobin, transaminase etc..They were making some deal. Man with mustaches approached me and with his fingers pulled down the skin bellow my eye. He was watching my white of the eye: „Verdhez“.

„You have jaundice, you son of the bitch! I will burn you alive if you have infected me!“ screamed Baldy pointing the gun towards me.

„No, please, nooo... Do not kill me, please!“

He hit me with his fist in the head, broke my nose, pulled my ears! Nosy grabbed his arm and began to defend me: „Take him to hospital. When he is well, bring him back“ - I tried to understand their conversation. We lived together and learnt languages from each other. Since the functions of my organs were quite bad because of acute jaundice and hepatitis, they wanted firstly to heal me and after that to take my organs. Than I left that damned house, with gauze on my nose, taking with me incredible fear of death. After 9 years, I was a bit free of fear, so I started to talk about that. But, it still hurts, very, very much.. They say: time is the great healer. It is not true. Time destroys. I am a ruin now, dusty and buried...

Translated by Aleksandra Jakšić

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