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Opinion / Editorial

The years of exile are the years of sadness, the emigrant in a foreign land is eaten by longing, the wood in the homeland is eaten by worms

The years of exile are the years of sadness, the emigrant in a foreign land is

….And more than that, sadness is felt everywhere. It is also felt among the emigrants who flee to foreign lands, who yearn for Vëndlinjen, a longing that accompanies them everywhere, "invades" even their relatives in the homeland and more than that. even the door of the house has been eaten by the worm, even the thing that keeps the door locked has been eaten by rust, even the unworked walnut has been covered by weeds, and the fields have been covered with thorns!
Longing and sadness accompany everyone, both those who leave, and those who remain, and the place where they grew up.. Emigrants leave, with their bodies in foreign lands, with their minds back, in the Motherland, as the poet Fuat Memelli says, "Emigrants , they only have the sky in common.."!.
This is the axis of the last Poems of the Poet Vangjel Pëllumbi. They do not find peace, neither the immigrants, nor the natives, they do not find peace, not even the few who have secured a good well-being are not peaceful, and even worse for the many who many difficulties ensure the minimum living conditions, children's upbringing and education, work...
Maybe I could be wrong, but I'd rather be wrong, which is nothing before what all those immigrants who have fled and continue to do run away, to be happy... It's not about absolute happiness, but a happiness when even the absences are filled by being near the homeland, near loved ones, near the parents who sacrificed to raise and educate them, near the school where they learned writing and singing, which even today "sads" the caterpillar, and the children's cheerful voices do not smile at them like they used to. They have the taste of their hometown, their friends and colleagues, the many memories, the places where they used to have fun with their childhood toys..
More than the sons of the hometown who have left, the loneliness is felt even more by the hometown, which is now being abandoned by the young people. and from the young, from the living thing
The revolt of the poet does not die out, even when he comes to his homeland, even for a short time to calm down.. . Even if for a short time you come to your homeland and miss it, on the contrary, you will miss it even more, to the point of sadness, the fire of longing will burn even more...
"To myself, where should I go? / no one says welcome to me / Parents, they are no more. They ran away with a broken heart / They fell for us / They sacrificed for us.. They ran away longing, they ran away with hopes that we, their descendants, would live better."!
.Goodness, it is not coming to us, neither in foreign countries, nor in the place where we grew up. The "costumes" of hope that we wear in foreign countries do not "warm" us, nor do they give us hope to be integrated into the ranks of civilization. Only costumes are not enough to become part of civilization, they are not enough nor the income more, because "the stone weighs in its place", that's where its "weight" is felt, that's where its strength is felt, that's where its "beauty" is.
I kissed the stone of the sofa / I found the lost happiness / I took out the longing of the village / I found myself happy / There at the door / Here, where the memories are, childhood / Here, on the sofas, I found myself /
That here ,longing, it's melting me./I cried on the sofa of the door / With a broken heart / How the stone shed tears of the heart / Where fate has condemned us / Tears cracked the stone / the heart was knocking furiously / The door barely opened / It creaked like sick bones / The threshold had shed tears / And the worm had eaten away at the wood.../ .
No one is calm, no one is calm, Neither the place itself is calm, nor the village, nor the roads, nor the few lonely ones who are left..
I went up, to Merrizi, writes the poet, to Stena e Bufi. Neither their scent nor the warm smell of the baby bothered me. These do not fill the void created by longing. On the contrary, they add to it even more when you see the village from above, which is rooted in calmness, the former noise is missing, the chirping of children at school is missing. The liveliness that used to give people when they went to the field is missing. Today, they are no more, they have fled to a foreign land. "Over there on the threshold of the gate, I felt your scent Homeland / Sadness gathered in my throat / like a tangle of foamy years. / Even the gate does not open / It is also "angry" / Even the wood of the threshold has faded / They waited for years , the god is gone.. With the creaking of the Gate / The old worm was shaken / with the pain of the heart, / My heart gave way / Tears flowed, the house is silent / I entered inside, the silence is a tomb / ... I said goodbye to the house / And the tears flowed , fell down..!
Even the threshold of the gate, and the sofa, used to be "laughing", they were laughing because every day they waited and escorted us...
We were children at that time, we wore rubber bands and patched clothes, but we were full of hope that one day good things would come.. But these days didn't come, they didn't come even to foreigners, they didn't even come to the homeland, where even the homeland "cries" even more from us, that we miss, that we gave life, that we gave life to,..
A few words about the village of Vangjeli, Tren, in the Devolli area, a village with a thousand-year history, so well known for the "Train Cave" that dates from the sixth millennium BC, ,
With right, the poet says that "The Train is a Pearl,. it is a living museum that carries in itself the antiquity, bravery and beauty,.. There is no one who has not heard of the eight-thousand-year-old Train Cave, who has not heard of The Castle of Trajan, which rises majestically above the village.
The Castle of Trajan bears the name of Emperor Trajan Decius who is identified as one of the important Emperors of ancient Rome, even though the short time he was in power did not allow him to complete his history.
Emperor Trajan is known for his confrontations with the Goths, before whom he was betrayed and killed. However, history considers him as a self-sacrificing leader to save ancient Rome. His leadership is connected not only with military successes, but also as a capable manager and investor of many objects of Rome at that time.
Trajan's Castle is one of the most important monuments of the Albanian historical and cultural heritage that, unfortunately, is little known by the general public.
Its roots date back to the Iron Age, among the largest in the territory of Illyria, stretching over 22 hectares of walls with a length of 3 km, as the well-known researcher Gjerak Karaiskaj writes in his work "5 thousand years of fortifications" !
In Late Antiquity, Trajan's citadel was refortified, but is now reduced to only its upper part. Trajan's Castle is preserved in the condition in which it was first found and no damage has been found so far. The castle was declared a cultural monument in 1963.
Like Tren Village, it is the whole of Albania, a gem, an ancient history, a rare natural beauty. This is why the Poet does not feel comfortable about the situation in which his village is located, about the distant time of his childhood.
Are we going to allow this beauty to be eroded by the erosions of time? No one wants to give up? We threw away and trampled on this centuries-old pearl that nature has given us. Should we neglect this museum of antiquity, so much so that tears flow on the streets when we look at it?
Please let's all give up together, because we don't miss anything! Let the dreams of beauty hum, Let's make the environment relaxing, so that we can enjoy the scent of the air of the mountains and hills that surround us, let's not let this beauty fade, that God has forgiven us,
the Poet remembers even the years of childhood, the years when even less, they felt happy, that you remember them, the tears, never stop..
Back then, we worked in the brigade /, Men, women, children and girls / We spent our troubles secretly / And s we were showing the open wounds. / The sweat was peeling our eyes / We were working for two people. / When we wore a pair of opings / You looked like we were flying / We forgot our smiles in the straw, / We collected our tears in baskets / Tears formed fountains / And washed our faces in the water / Pains that seemed like flowers / Covered our faces / With the gray haze / The smile, we let go with grace / To find the comfort of the heart / Lined brigades, we worked / With our eyes on the withered flowers / For the time we were killing
His life, is the life of all those who have left the place and work in and abroad. Many years have passed and every year that passes, life becomes more difficult.
This also has its own reasons. In a foreign land, the homeland is missing, there is no peace, the troubled spirit is always present... Nothing enters your eyes, when you have burning longing and tears flowing, tears that "dissolve" even stone and no longer man..
And yet, the poet is full of hope, he is optimistic about the future. We have a country that no one has. But hopes do not die. The day will come when we will make the village, the city, Albania flourish. Only then will we be calm, happy and with cheerful voices. There is nothing better, when you work in your homeland, when you smile with your soul, when you have the warmth of your homeland.