I shouldn’t even come down from Longji mountains
To the big town of Gulin!
Suffocating mois atmosphere waits for me there:
Trucks, wans, cars, motorbikes, bicycles and people,
All running in all directions, knot together and blow irritating horns,
Emit dense black smoke!
On every corner, what was sympathetic to me in the begining,
On the small, moving, improvised ranges,
In overfryed oil,
All kinds of vegetable, meat and dough is prepared.
You just point your finger,
They just trow that chosen piece in the black oil can,
Your food chirps and gets dirty.
„Cook“ shakes it a litlle and baste it
With some red, chilly sos,
Pay and eat!
I dont know why but I can not pass even near
Anymore. Sudenlly that food stinks to me,
I want ćevapčići and mousaka and pletenica with sesame!
Jao, it was really nice in „Jao“ society,
For example, you sit near the waterfall,
You lean on your hand,
Head alone thinks, without any presure
And then, imperceptible, you change weight to the other hand,
Lean your face on that palm
And it smells... smells like chinese grasses, moss, wet ground
And tiger fat!
Or, you hear how some meadow burns loudly
Jao pesant speaks with his cow by mooing
And Jao women, when they meet you,
They yell, like angry wasps:
And press you to buy embroidery, handbags and colorful covers.
You can run but they are fast,
You must bargain... in the end...you buy.
I hope all that cannot be found on Chiniese market in New Belgrade
Anyway, on my way back to town,
Long orange fruit gardens,
I can not stretch my hand so much through the window,
To pick a few from the bus in that rush
But local banana was so different, juicy and sweet and milky...mmm
Like a lunch at second mama’s kitchen.