I am a poor fisherman
And the eyes of my net are too big
Even a Whale could easily jumps
And my tumbledown boat isn't seaworthy
Just rests on the polluted beach.
It's totally an off season for fishing
And the rough waves are surfing.
I lit the half burned candle
in my shaky hut.
And I pray the cruel wind
Give me a sound sleep.
The fishmongers are jealous of you
Being a beautiful Virgin
And they gossip a lot in the marketplace.
A friend of mine who mends the nets
And the friendly Sea Gulls too
Told me that you're pink of color.
I call you Pinky!
Though it's a risky journey
If you could drift with the waves
Towards my neglected solitary Harbor
I can wait in standing my whole life for you
Like a lonesome Lighthouse!
*To my Life-school Art Teacher, the poetess Sandra Fowler in gratitude!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem