Brave Tourist - Mickey Maos
Following my dorćol’s, rat’s,
Sometimes even punched, nose,
Even in touristic places, I find geological, mineral,
Non-touristic wealth.
Poor neighborhoods where life flourishes,
Unstitched, ragged but fresh
Markets between ruins, those fruits and vegetables,
Seem fluorescent like, nearly kitchy in that ocher, grayish, dirty dark surrounding.

Back yards of kitchens, cafes,
Women squatting and washing mountains of dishes in washbowls,
Water floods over
And streams down, following the stairs
That rolls to the river canal,
Dead end of river.
Collage made boats,
Tin, planks, plastic, materials, all together and all mixed up.
People eat, sitting on small benches
I became hungry, too,
Someone took me to see and choose fish in pools,
They bake it in a jiffy.
Fish is too chilly, I can not eat it all,
They giggle at me
And scream short sexually charged jokes
Waitresses, cooks, cleaning lady, local prostitute, they drop by,
They laugh like little monkeys...
I start conversation with a few Chinese words
Than, carelessly, I switch to Serbian
There is no difference.
Anyway, they don’t understand English,
But maybe they can catch something in the melody
Of my mother tongue
And my laughter, I laughed freely...
But those mutual sympathies don’t stop them from increasing bills,
As far as they can, they overcharge you
For watching them and inspiration.

Deeper in midland
Faces became prettier,
Unusual beauty, you can not unglue your eyes...
In mountains with rice fields on the slopes
Lives minority
I swear that’s how they call them.
Women in colorful, nice dresses
With longest hairs in the world,
Which they roll up in hat-like shape.
In overfilled local wan,
A Jao girl sat next to me.
She was combing herself
And prickled me with that long,
Bewitching hair of hers.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath,
I didn't have any place to move.