How much ice does it take to freeze bloodstains

A few years ago, I stood silently watching a long line of children escorting a child to their eternal rest. Their peer and friend. Young, beautiful, terrified. In disbelief. They spoke in passing as tears streamed down their faces. The streets were filled with their muffled clamor. They wanted to say so much to each other - And then. A ricochet.

Their words bounced off and returned to them. Silence and quiet ensued. A tear froze, a step halted, a word was silenced. They lowered him into the cold earth and covered him with soil. To keep him warm. And to hide. To protect. From whom should they protect him? From his peers. What a nightmare. From those who silently send a message in passing? No, not at all. From those whose thoughts stopped at the very beginning. From those whose hand grabbed the cold blade of a knife and played with it...

Ice covered the hill, the earth covered the coffin, and stone conquered hearts. They clenched. They stopped for a moment and then moved on out of sync. Today there is ice again. Today there is snow. Today the silent column is on the move again. Lepenica, Tuzla, Sarajevo... It doesn't matter. The silent ones froze in their steps. And from somewhere, the howling of hyenas can be heard. They do not rest. They are even fed. They are protected. Hyenas with distorted faces move towards new youthful faces.

However, one must stop and look. They too have youthful faces. They are children. They too have their interrupted dreams. No, I refuse to hear that they are bloodthirsty. A child is a child. Every child was born to some mother. All need love, care, and attention. Do not stone me for this. All need the same warm piece of sky. But that piece has scattered somewhere. The children are not to blame. They are not even aware that they need that warm piece to protect them.

The guardians of children's skies are to blame. The guardians of children's dreams are to blame. A child who raises a hand against another child is a sad child. Abandoned. Neglected. Lost. Forever. They want others to feel that abandonment. That's why they send icy messages. That's why they freeze another's step and another's dream. That's why the column in passing is completely distant to them. The column with white roses.

That is why their words have given way to the inhuman. And when a child turns into a beast, and the beast rages freely in its movement, then a dream is broken, a life that is given equally to all. Adult surviving beasts only scavenge on this childhood suffering as if these children were a different species. As if other people's children were another species. That's the mistake. That's the wrong code.

Adult beasts are just older neglected children. Otherwise, they would understand the call and the sob. The cry and the plea. They would hear the loud silence of the children in passing. There are no paths or trails that lead us to carelessness as long as we do not give it to others. As long as even one child stops in their step. And a child's step is light and fragile. Once broken, that step either melts or will never again have warmth and strength.

Let's not let our children lose their step and breath. Let's not let their movement freeze and their path be lost. We have somehow cleared our own paths. They lead somewhere, but their direction is too winding if only our path is cleared. We, always and forever, carry the burden of those whose legs are not strong enough to clear paths for themselves.

Therefore, let's stop in our movement, look around, and grab that childlike spark with which we will together pave paths where all traces are visible, recognizable, and where there are no foreign, other, unimportant ones. Those we don't know. Because, today our foot is the first in the step, and tomorrow... Only then will those from the beginning of the story who watch us from above know that we have learned to walk.