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Serbian Letter of Thanks to the World

Good morning Wonderful World.

You still know the difference between morning and evening.  Lucky you.

Don't ever find out how miserable is feeling of sleepiness when you are too fearful to fall asleep. Somehow it is hard to get used to fact death might come instead of waking up.

Except good mornings, You still know many other good things. With efforts, we could recall: unfrustrated springtimes, not spoiled with dreadful sounds of alarm-bells; hometowns, divided into two parts by the lazy rivers, rendezvous on the favorite bridges - it is so sweet compromise when your love lives so far, so across the river; studyng in Belgrade, city of The World, Your city, recently wounded and disgraced, and not the only one, unfortunately, Your city, until just while ago and in spite of great economic crises, covered with laughter of students and unborn children, now doesn't want even to be seen, like an old lady who never learnt to look and to act differently but as lady; expecting summertimes, saving money for the vacation on the coast, the small of the Adriatic, salt on the skin, beauty that feeds the eyes, rests the body, repairs the soul, ten days worth waiting for; first fruit of the season, strawberries with cream, apricot juice, plum - gathering, preparing plum-brandy, You World know, for sure, the taste of it; sky studded with stars... ordinary, silent ones... irresistible desire for giving birth... whistle of memories.

What is wrong with You, World? Can't You see? Can't You open Your eyes a bit wider? Are You afraid of what You might see? I would be terrified if I were You. I would be terrified to see the dying Nation. The particle of dying Nation is trying to talk to You. Would You, at least, listen?

I'm not the journalist; this is not a report. I am not going to tell You about civilian casualties, crashed infrastructure, not having elementary conditions for decent living, premature births and much premature deaths of the same babies because of no power supply... I'm leaving that research to Your conscience. It won't be easy now, considering the level of isolation we have been put in. But You know that I know that You already know: not everything maybe, but quite enough. Let me ask You then: why is my face uglier then just anybody's else in The World? Only because They [NATO] want You to believe so? Don't You have eyes? OK, why don't You make Them [NATO] let us wash our faces, and turn the light on; maybe, just maybe, then You will finally see we are not that ugly.

I have been told that over one hundred countries of The World gave judgment against what is happening to my Country and my Nation. I have been told that more then one hundred of Your countries, World, rose their voices. Why then I can not hear them? What do You think, Precious World: is it enough to condemn, or there is something (read: many things) You could do more? Are They [NATO] too strong even for You, Promised World? No, You will never convince me. And You'll never convince these hopeless people I belong to. So, this led us, You, Mercy World, and me, the particle, to the very end of this conversation.

Thank You for the fair judgment; it will hardly end this nightmare. Thank You for the imagination; You still can't imagine the horror that eyes can not embrace? Thank You for the rosen voices; I could swear their strength has to rip the sky apart, but obviously, I was wrong. Thank You in the name of millions of us who have no slightest idea why is this happening, who have only been trying to run their modest lives, and stay cheerful.

If You needed to see us begging, You are not different from Them [NATO] and therefore not worth any of my words; not even one.

Good bye, Cruel World, "there is nothing You can do to make me change my mind" (Pink Floyd). Is it so? Is it that so? Deeply inside, and deeply hurt, we probably still count on You, but if there is something more wrong over here (it is always possible, isn't it?), we'll hardly have a chance to alarm You. Sleep well, if You still can. From now on, it is up to You.

Don't expect me to be grateful in advance.

The Particle,

which would like

to sign itself as:

the Sunset of the Nation