Sjećam se tog grada na rijeci Vuki koji me je ljubazno i gordo dočekivao, s jedne strane bogata gazdinstva sa urednim travnjacima i cvijećem a sa druge strane Borovo i Vupik te nešto od čega ti ljudi žive. Jutra su se budila sneno i ljeno a šum rijeke Vuke davao je tome jedan poseban ugođaj no došli su ‘oni’ kojima snena jutra ništa nisu značila i proparali zrak metalom rušeči ljepotu i mir u kojem su mnogi Vukovarci uživali.
Sve to me vratilo u sjećanje 2005 godine kad sam napisao post DNEVNIK RATNIKA – VUKOVAR, BOL SJEĆANJA i kad ovaj dan se osjećam teško, na srcu težak kamen dok u oku suza koja samo što ne kane a znam da nisam Vukovarac no volim svoj Vukovar i volim one ljude tamo a u srcu nosim one svoje znane kojih više nema.
Događanje, 21.11.2005 godine.
Sjedih tako prije tri dana pred telkom kod sestrične u Brešću pored Osijeka jer bijah na službenom putu i slušah prepucavanja naših predragih političara te pametnih komentara naših televizijskh novinara kako nije u redu da nitko od vodećih nije došao na godišnjicu pada grada heroja. Razmišljah kako su mi se zgadile te priče oko Vukovara koje iz godine u godinu postaju iste samo su oni koji ih prenose drugog imena.
Sjećam se jednog imena koje je kada je to bilo najpotrebnije i kad je svaka sekunda bila jedan život prenosio tu strahotu događanja, nažalost ostao je samo u sjećanju za godišnjice i za kočoperenje malih bezidejnih novinarčića koji njegovim imenom žele sebi dići slavu.
Eto me danas 18.11.2005 na groblju dok mi suze same klize niz lice, a mozak para na sjećanje jutra 17.11. koje je bilo magleno u blatnom polju dok su zrak parale detonacije a miris baruta se širio nosnicama a srce kucalo ludo dok je strah ludo jurio mozgom i tijelom. Danima boravismo ovdje bez pomaka ikuda naprijed u išćekivanju ulaska u grad koji više se od dima baruta je jedva nazirao sa mislima da se nećemo više vratiti i da pismo koje pišem majci i ocu je zadnje što će od mene dobiti. Pomirih se sa smrću koja me čeka na jednom od ulaza grada. Nas 23-ojca ljudi velika srca uzesmo ono malo sebe, namirnica i nešto streljiva spremni spasiti ono nama najdraže.
Noć nisam prospavao jer zvuk detonacija tresao je cijelo vrijeme zemlju i zrak a i od nas na koji kilometar palo ih je 50-tak a pogled na grad koji je bio osvjetljen od vatre što je gorila pretvarao je noć u dan. 4:32 je i stigla je zapovjed – povlačenje prema Slavonskom Brodu, ipak zakopati i ostaviti zalihe hrane i streljiva.
Krećemo gorka okusa u ustima okrenuti prema gradu koji je u plamenu dok napad na njega ne jenjava. Srce mi je neka teška ruka stegla a u grlu mi knedla ne dopušta da dišem jer tamo negdje je Tomo a i Braco i još par mojih prijatelja. Plačem u sebi kao i mnogi od nas dok se suze njemo spuštaju niz moje lice a srce me neizmjerno boli, znam da ih više neću vidjeti i vrača mi se sjećanje od prije 5-6 dana kada smo zajedno u Našicama se glupirali i igrali belu.
U Brodu nas je dočekala vijest da je Vukovar pao, te me naš zapovjednik pozvao u stranu i rekao da cijeli vod vjerojatno nije preživio ja više nisam imao snage, probudio sam se na podu 150-desetke dok je Zagi me pitao da li sam dobro. Neznam što sam rekao ali sve oko mene nije više bilo isto.
Danas eto me tu i izgubljen sam u ovome trenutku te pokušavam upaliti svijeću ali mi ruke toliko drhte. Ipak upalih nekako i ostah tako valjda pola sata i isplakah iz sebe dušu. Zbogom prijatelji!
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Zbog svega toga Vas molim političari i novinari ostavite nam Vukovar na miru, ne sramotite nam ga i ne sramotite ta nama posebna sjećanja i te divne trenutke jer ne trebate nam ni jedni ni drugi tamo. Tamo su naši osjećaji i naša sjećanja te ne želimo da nam ih skrnavite a posebno ne zbog svih onih koji su sebe vječno zadužili da ga štite i brane.
Translate:
Forget, for politics is still only a prostitute …
I remember this town on the river Vuka me who is kind and dignified welcome, on the one hand the rich farms with neatly meadows and flowers and, on the other side of Borovo and Vupik and something of which these people live. The morning awakening dreamily and ljeno a noise Vuka river that gave it a special atmosphere but they came ‘they’ who dreamily morning were not meant nothing and proparali air metal destroying the beauty and peace in which many Vukovars enjoyed.
All this came back to me memories of the year 2005 when I wrote the post DIARY WARRIORS – VUKOVAR, PAIN MEMORIES and when this day I feel difficult, at the heart of heavy stone while in the eye of tears that you not only henna and I know that I did not Vukovars but I love her and Vukovar I love those people over there in the heart of wearing one of his known which is no more.
The event, 21.11.2005 year.
Sitting so three days before television when the cousin Brešću next Osijek because I was on a business visit and heard pointless argument of our beloved politicians and smart comments of our television journalists how wrong that no one did not come leading to the anniversary of the fall of the town heroes. Think that we sicken and stories around Vukovar that year became only the same people who are carried by other names.
Behold me today 18.11.2005 at the cemetery until my tears glide down the same face, and passes through the brain remembering the morning 17.11. that was fog in the Mud field while the air echoed explosion and the smell of gunpowder spread the nostrils a heart beating madly while fear is crazy chase brain and body. Days we stayed here without a shift anywhere forward in expectation of entering the city, which is more than smoke powder is hardly perceive the thoughts that the more we will not go back and to write a letter to his mother and father is the last thing will get from me. Reconciled with the death that awaits me at one of the entrances of town. Our 23 big hearts of people we took it a bit myself, foods and some ammunition ready to deliver it to us favorite.
I did not oversleep night because the sound of explosion shaking the whole time land and air and one of us on that one kilometer fall were 50 and the view of the city that was illuminated by fire as the gorilla to convert the night to day. 4:32 arrived and he was commanded – to the withdrawal of Slavonski Brod, however, bury and leave stockpiles of food and ammunition.
We will have bitter taste in the mouth facing the city, which is in flames, while the attack on him, do not let up. My heart is a heavy hand of discipline in my soul dumpling does not allow to breathe because there is somewhere Tomo and Braco and even a couple of my friends. Wages in itself, as well as many of us until it tears down my face a range of a heart hurts me immensely, I know that they will not see more and returns to me the memory of the 5-6 days prior to when we are together in Nasice and the buffoon played Bela.
In Brod, we welcomed news that the Vukovar fell, and I called our commander in the side and said that the entire circuit is not likely to survive I have not had more power, awaked I was on the floor 150-ten while Zagi asked me whether I am good. I do not know what I said but everything around me is not the same any more.
Today, behold me here and I lost at this time and trying to light a candle but my hands so tremulous. Yet somehow hollow and remained so perhaps half an hour and drill-in fluids from the soul itself. Goodbye friends!
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Because of all this you’d politicians and journalists leave us alone Vukovar, not shame us, and it does not shame us the special memories and moments and wonderful, because you do not need us betwixt and between there. There are our feelings and our memories, and I do not want us to profane and especially not for all those who had itself forever obliged to protect him and defend.
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