May 5th of Martyrs, Noiz's car and a poem by Jorgo Bllaci about his brother who fell in the war

2025-05-05 11:55:00, Opinione Luan Rama

May 5th of Martyrs, Noiz's car and a poem by Jorgo Bllaci about his brother

As if someone were to say two words.
Two heartfelt words, as the code of honoring the fallen requires.
Because today is May 5.
It is the day of remembrance and honoring the martyrs of the homeland.

Nobody spoke.
The Prime Minister was not there. Even though he should have been there, he chose to go to Pogradec or Korça. He is on the campaign trail. May 11 is election day.
But, he was the President of the Republic. He could have spoken too. He is the Head of State.
Albania is an anti-fascist country. Not from any decree or decision. But, from blood and from war.
The Anti-Fascist National Liberation War not only liberated Albania. But it also saved it. It saved it and honored it. It ranked it with the victors, in the great anti-fascist world coalition, together with the three great victorious powers; the Soviet Union, Great Britain and the USA.
Without the war of Qemal Stafa and the generation he represents, without their blood and without the sacrifices made by all our people, Albania would not be what it is. Anti-fascist and honored, no, no.
And where else could it be better and more appropriate than on May 5, the eightieth year of the victory over fascism, to talk about the sacrifices and great contribution of Albanians in achieving the great victory?!
At least to talk about it as much as was said about Noiz's car.

But who would speak? The President doesn't know. And it's better that he doesn't know. Because he is where he is because he doesn't know. The Prime Minister wasn't. The others, like the others...

In the Martyrs' Cemetery, although damaged, dusty and left without care, (which actually proves the "attention" and hypocrisy of state behavior!), today there was, as always, the longing and respect of their relatives, descendants, and citizens who consider respect and gratitude a virtue.

Even the unforgettable poet Jorgo Bllaci, like many others, has found himself in the midst of the absurdity of oblivion and lack of respect for the fallen, in which the relatives and family members of the martyrs still find themselves today.
The poem titled "At the grave of my brother" says it all neatly. I am sharing it with you as a tribute today, on May 5, the day of the martyrs of the homeland.

TO MY GRAVE, BROTHER

I know you've been waiting for me, brother,
And maybe you've said to yourself:
"Why doesn't this man come alive? What's wrong,
That he hasn't come here at least to be pampered for almost a lifetime
?"

My dear!
In this quiet corner
Where the flower of age does not wither,
You have remained sixteen years old,
But the storm of time did not spare me,
It left me without leaves, a young sprout.
So much so that I have turned gray before my time.
Therefore, if I have not come to this day, believe me,
I did not want
to poison your tender soul with my bitter tears.
Because the enemy bullet took you, but my
days are cruelly darkened by those
Who entrusted your most precious dreams,
oh my brother!

But today I have not come to cry to you,
Nor to complain to you about my ordeal.
I have another worry that I do not know who to share it with
In this time of endless disappointments!
Because it had never crossed my mind That madness
would reach this far,
That with wreaths of flowers and flags
Your murderers would be reburied
And all the thousands of boys and girls who, like you
, eternally putting their homeland above themselves,
On the altar of freedom sacrificed
What they had most dear, their lives!

Oh, when I think that that mad crowd
Could trample you on the grave too,
Brother, my flesh tightens and my place cannot hold it,
That is why I came to take you.
And since in this land that we considered our mother,
For which you shed your blood, I shed my soul,
Our poor relatives were unable to leave us
Not a single inch of land as an inheritance,
I will find you a corner among my songs,
To rest in peace,
Far from the cries of those who have become greedy
To leave this place without history!