I am standing up
In the middle
Of the lake.
My feet are touching the ground
The lake is soft and tender.
The water is endlessly pure.
The floor is nothing but
I came to relax
And stand up.
Yes, I came to fish
In the middle of it.
I only have little yard thread
And a dream
To hold a fish
Between my hands.
Here is my fish!
Out of nowhere,
Rolling and wrapping itself
Around the thread.
Both never expected
To be in the middle of nowhere.
I do not want
To pull the thread
And I do not resist
The picture of
The fish is trying to make her way to my hands.
I held it
Softly the between
I freed it
As if I am freeing myself
From the idea of being
In middle of nowhere.
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Comments about this poem (The Fisherman by Atef Ayadi )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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