My books, prose, poetry, thoughts

Looking The Other Way

Her friends warned her about him.

Yes, they warned her well. Stories were going in circles, swirled like the wind and gathered along the way dust and deceits, carrying them faster, until it rolled the whole bundle of things right up to her feet, leaving them onto her doorstep. And? Now what?

Defective Venus Of Urbino

In the middle of evening leisure, he suddenly appeared at a doorway, penetrated in the faceless mass of people, and stood as if he alone exists, obviously a long time ago reconciled with his own beauty. On the other side of the room, she stopped in the middle of the sentence, struck by lightning on a clear day by his unreal appearance, while Selma immediately headed to attack, tossing her head in an attempt to stun him with her chestnut hair. She watched him for some time, confirming to herself that yes, he is indeed that beautiful, and in spite of everything and all, she approached him, asked for his phone number and went home.

You Were With Her

You were with her. What was I supposed to do? I saw her for the first time then, she had blonde hair, harmonious breasts, soft movements. She had an expensive dress, look drawn with a liner, a bit pretentious lips. She had a glass of wine in her hands, she was drinking and talking loudly, she had a look under the liner, over the glass, pointed at me… She had you.

Razdvojeni Kreveti

Stojim u gostinjskoj sobi tek deset minuta a već se osećam neprijatno. Kamen u obliku ptice na Mininom prstenu samo što mi ne izbije oko, to je jedna stvar.

Druga, još nelagodnija, jeste činjenica da kada sam poslednji put bila kod njih, Aleksandar i ona su spavali u istom krevetu. Sada, nekoliko godina kasnije, Mina mi je pomogla da spustim kofer, i kažiprstom na kome se prelivalo kameno perje, nehajno zavrtela u pravcu njegove i njene sobe.

Njegova je nekada bila njihova, to se dobro sećam.


I’m trying to get you out of my fingers
on paper
Confused question marks
stumble on ellipses
letters shrug their shoulders, they don’t know a thing
except that
I want to fall asleep on your collarbone
scatter myself on you like
You know that dying is only worth it when we leave a trace
Because in the end
nothing is left


On my palm
There’s warm blood
Of a freshly broken heart
Draining with promises
I wipe my hand against my thigh
I have a hole too
In my stomach
In the shape of you
But again, my lab results are
just fine
All vital signs are stable
Call in the next patient
You have to move on, they say
Guess it’s the only phrase they know
As if closeness has anything to do with presence
Because, you are here
In every call that’s not from you
On the sheet on the other side
of the bed
Love is stupid
You are either staying or missing
And the funniest thing is
If there’s anything funny
That I miss the most
Our silences
You combing
Seemingly pointless seconds
While you’re looking for socks
So listen, ok, it’s enough
Come back to me
To hold me
And, I don’t want to go home
Without you

Ja Sam Leto

(Santorini (poznat još kao Tira) je grčko vulkansko ostrvo koje se nalazi u Egejskom moru, prstenastog oblika. Njegovi najpoznatiji delovi (gradići) su Ia i Fira. Usled vulkanskog porekla na ostrvu postoji kaldera (litica tj ivica nastala pri urušavanju vulkana) a pesak na ostrvu je izrazito crne boje. Jedno je od turistički najposećenijih mesta u Grčkoj najviše poznato po svojim neverovatnim zalascima sunca.)


You smell
Like October
You stick to my fingers
To my hips
I’m falling, I want to fall
My chest hurts from happiness
You’re holding me
You put my hair behind my ears
You are gentle as your fingers tremble
You whisper
Tonight, you’re my deformity
You are hungry for life
Of two hearts
Separated by skin
Love is this second
I swear
Forever, you add

Never Reason

I want to do ya do ya do ya
Like you do me do me do me
To get into your nose
into the throat
into the trachea
To trip you up and turn your stomach upside down
So you don’t eat
So you don’t sleep
To call it true love and
the only one
To do you
to do me
to do us
So we pound ourselves on the nerve endings and burn when we touch
Because that’s the only way it works
Love is done this way babe say so


Instead of lips
I’m sending you a kiss on the palm,
To smear it all over yourself
Because you’re combing with your palm
Because you bathe with it
You rub under your armpits
Touching yourself
So my kisses stick to your body
Like leeches
I need exactly three drops to mix them with a bat’s wing on the new moon
So you be mine again
So you be mine again


I stopped dreaming

I lie awake at night

I do not sleep

I count and recalculate

I let the shooting stars

To rest in peace

I don’t even dream during the day

As I walk the streets in the wrong direction

I forgot the keys again

I’m not dreaming

of the hammock where we sleep in

Your palm on your shoulder

Heartbeat on the earlobe

The waves caressing the shore

I completely forgot

That I used to think

That it is possible

To dream

That anything is possible

Očinski Instinkt

Strah me je toliko obuzeo pred preglasnom prirodnom katastrofom da sam, između ostalog i pomislio: ,,Bože, neću više nikada varati Jelu, molim te, nemoj da me kažnjavaš, evo kunem se svim svetim, nikada više!” Nisam mogao da se setim ničega više što sam loše uradio, bar ne večeras. Vratiću i pare kumu, dugujem ih preko godinu dana… A ako me pitate šta se desilo, evo.


(Spisateljska saradnja: ista tema, dve priče – dva autora)

Slobodan pad – Marijan Falica

Nedjelja 5:53

Izvadio sam mobitel i poslao poruku, zazvonio je nakon nekoliko trenutaka.

Hej, kaj si ti budan ovako rano?

Ona soba, kod tebe, još je slobodna? – Upitao sam.

Kaj? Gotovo je?


Prekinuo sam vezu, zapalio cigaretu i pustio dim u zagrebačko svitanje.


Seven hundred nights

I sleep alone

And I know for sure that some people

Who I know

They sleep 700 nights

with someone


And those people who sleep together for 700 days

Does the existence with someone hurt them as much

missing someone

hurts me

Are they used to it

Did they every night

From 700 nights


Thank you

Like I wondered every night



And would I like you


If you were there

each of those 700 nights

In this way your absence

Created a fictional man

Who kisses the best

Who listens the best

Which fits best into maybe

In the whole wide world

And that maybe sounds so good

That it turns 699th night

Into this seven hundredth


In the end

although I know many people

Who 700 days sleep together

On the same bed

Do all those

someone else’s love

look better

From 700 nights

Without you

Dobre Vesti

– A da se preseliš u Portugaliju i pišeš knjige? – rekao mi je polu nasmešeno, i ja sam već videla kako grizem njegove višnja usne, kako se smejemo njegovim surferskim pokušajima, kako se volimo na podu naše kuhinje, na pločicama koje dodiruju moja izgorela leđa, ja sam već videla iz jedne preseli se u Portugaliju rečenice, sve što je obećavao i želeo njegov pogled.

Ukradena Jakna I Ostale Životne Lekcije

Ukradu meni jaknu u teretani.
Jeste, ovu lepu sa slike.
Izlazim iz tuša, gledam u čiviluk – gleda i on mene. Prazan.
Pet minuta stojim i gledam, i naravno ne verujem.
“Što si prazan?!” pitam iznervirano. Čiviluk ćuti. I dalje ne verujem. Srećom pa nije bio onaj zapekli minus, nego se temperatura podigla do nultog podeoka pa dok stojim i čekam taxi da me odveze u džemperu kući, šanse za meningitis se smanjuju. Valjda.


Sinoć sam sedela na stanici čekajući prevoz, i naravno po (glupoj) navici uključila telefon besciljno tražeći “nešto”.

Jer kao nemam šta da radim osim da čekam. Kao da je čekanje glupo i nedopustivo i potreban mi je telefon da me zabavi jer smo mi ljudi iz XXI veka pametniji od onih koji su hiljadama godina ranije čekali, i konačno je to čekanje dolijalo i pronađen je lek u obliku telefona. Kada sam shvatila šta sam uradila, ljuta na sebe, spustila sam telefon i isključila ga.

Podigla sam pogled.

Na Kraju Leta

Na kraju leta stoje mladići sa punim, mekim, mesnatim usnama, preplanuli, i mirišu na sunce.

I ja, prljava od grada.

Krupnih očiju i krupnih osmeha, smeše mi se.

Bezvoljno uzvraćam, bleda od smoga.

Umorno grizem njihove usne kao breskve i, dok koža puca pod zubima, upijam slatkasti, tečni ukus.

Da se nahranim zracima.


At the ends of the colorful scarf
gold coins rattle
in the rhythm of my hips
and dance at the command of the dark gods

Around the joints bracelets
While the heels are pounding on the sand
And the moon dipped in the madness descends
behind the clouds,
orders me to continue

Dreaming of

Events that never happened
Books that were never written

I’m dreaming and
bang on one another,
clap, clap, clap
The throat makes sounds
While the hips sway left and right
left right
left right
left… and right

I am the darkness that hides me
Drops of sweat
on the temples
a squeeze of fingers on hands
I dance in the moonlight
And sweat sticks my hair to my hot forehead

How to be free of myself
How to free myself
How to
Feet walk on water
The soul follows the roads that do not know where lead

And I’m still dreaming and sweet heart
cracks at the edges
At the sign of music drumming in my ears
Shadows dance
Skin with goosebumps despite the flame smoldering from
my stomach


Divine and horrendous intertwine inside of me
And in my walls
I see light

I am free
I am
Alone in the middle of the crowd
Which moves equally to the sound of gold coins
I am every color
Which melts before closed eyes
I am red and red and red
I am

Dreaming of

Exotic fruit squeezed in waterfalls
A land waiting beneath my footsteps
On which stand
millions of ghosts
I dream ing of going where they want
The bones that are old

Repeated story
Never told till the end

How I cruise the sea,
with foot crossed over the deck
while I look out to shore, into the horizon and the sky,
in overall blue
How I eat what I love,
while the sweetness of taste flows down my palate

I am the universe
I am
My hips going
Left right
right left


And – here is freedom,
It comes in flows
Its foam comes out of my mouth
It wraps me like a cloth
Here is freedom
In all its ecstasies
And the moon behind the clouds,
orders me to continue

Olé, Olé!

Kit je ispred bine već nekoliko minuta divljački mahao kroz vazduh ogromnim drvenim štapom neobičnog oblika, za koga je bila privezana crvena marama. Niko nije bio preterano iznenađen. Znali su da gitarista najvećeg benda svih vremena na ovaj način pokušava da umilostivi bogove kako u sledećih par sati više od 80 hiljada ljudi ne bi pokislo.

U Brazilu, ipak, ludačko vitlanje nije sprečilo kišu da pada.

Mađutim, nije ni kiša sprečila Stonse da održe još jedan fenomenalni koncert.

U stvari, poslednjih par decenija apsolutno ništa nije sprečilo Stonse da održe fenomenalan koncert.

Kako je to moguće?


The hooves of wild horses
They’re drumming under your breasts
Just below the spot
Where your great,
Strong palm rests
With bulky fingers.
You lie motionless,
And you expel misty smoke through your nostrils
While the horses gallop in your chest under your arm.

Dorćolska Mantra

“Ako još jednom budeš stala da slikaš, roknuću se” gunđa S na moje ko zna koje vađenje telefona iz džepa i zastajanje ispred još jedne sive, dorćolske fasade. Nasmešim se i čekam da okrene leđa a onda krišom ponovo škljocnem u zrak pa ubrzavam korak za njom.

Ona žuri.

New Page

Verujem u okretanje nove strane. Ali isto tako verujem i u vraćanje na stara poglavlja, kako bismo još jednom potvrdili ono što (ne) znamo.

I to je otprilike to, od moje vere.

Nisam sigurna da u bilo šta drugo i verujem.

Ili napred – ili nazad.

Kosmički soliteri

Odlučila sam da umrem. Nego kako, da ga kaznim za sve ono što mi je priredio! On će meni da sam ja kokoška! Ako sam ja kokoška, onda je on, onda je on jedan, jedan, jedan… Jedan pevac! Tako je! Pevac! Videće on! Odlučila sam, samoubistvo u dva laka poteza! Već vidim, ima da plače i da kuka i da ga sram bude što mi je svašta rekao! Krelac! Nije pevac nego krelac!


Deep in the city, on a pavement, I’m lying with my hand on my stomach counting down the heartbeats to hunting grounds. It’s three in the morning and far away, I am sure it’s raining. I am nervous and I want to walk down, along the street, to go astray. To kick stone blocks in your face so you can hear me.


Good evening, he said with never forgotten lips, and what was so good about it? My head hurt from the pressure of his presence and poor, long-lost heart was pounding. ‘Evening, because indeed, the evening it was. What, where, how and with whom, and what should I say to him, so I continue to blankly speak empty stories: It’s good, good and that’s how I only confirm his good. Yes, why not and that sort of lies that more insulted lips than the brain; lips because they are dirty, lips because they are bad when they know how to invent such things. Long ago body started roaring due to desire for the body, breath and eyes to mist under the blindness of excessive beat in the stomach. He managed to strike the final blow: he smiled, in such way, in such way… Like that long, long time ago. As in the mirror, I drew a smile on my face, just to show that I still remember how to do it. He said goodbye and did what he always knew the best – left.


No. No. No. No. Let’s – no.

What is its job after all? What’s the point of my present NO? Greater good? Because this present YES appear to know what it’s doing, and that NO for the sake of future credit seems so irrelevant. Do I have to say NO? And if not, why I am saying NO after all?

I Am Words

I am words I am someone’s words gathered on a paper that are out of paper, I am bunch of letters that I leave behind, I am just a trace in the universe that will disappear without a trace, that may become again, I am trapped in each book for the sake of my body built out of letters, you will not know me unless you read me and I will not know myself because I cannot read myself all to the end, deplete myself, because I am just that pathetic bunch of letters, always the same, fenced with 26 characters, in some language more, in some less, I am alone and always with someone, I am in love with myself too much, in my letters and pages and I have no boundaries, except those letters, but I travel through connections with sentences, I build myself with no connection to words, I am always staring at dot on i and three dots at the end of the thought that is endless and if you think this kick ass how will you only react to something that I write outside of myself and my letters, out of any relation to reality, how will you leave me and let me go forever when you look at this letters and you cannot stop reading me…