Fishermen in the Unknown

To those fishermen whom I observe every day,

Those who surrender themselves to a haven—no foe may breach,

Sailing from the star of dawn,

Then becoming the stars of the night.

The moon and clouds mirror their glow to illuminate their boat,

Drowned in two blues—the sea and the sky.

From their wooden boat, they cast their nets into the unknown.

The same net that their fathers gave,

And the same that their children will take.

Knowing not whether this time their snare will succeed in fishing.

Within a certain mile they sail,

For if they cross that point,

They will fall into a snare set by their enemies—

Just like the fish they fish.

They make the snare, yet might fall into another.

They listen to the rhythm of the waves,

To the patience that brings them sustenance.

Still learning the secrets that are in the depth of the sea,

And when they claim they know it all,

The sea provides for them that they are weak.

The waves rise and fall,

Like their hopes for good news,

Driving them to sail toward the horizon—

Free, unrestrained, listening to no one,

Ignoring their enemies and becoming the captains of their sea.

The sunset reflects its crepuscular rays on their tanned skin.

Returning with pale faces,

Calm like the sun after its midday fury,

Smiling after exhaustion.

Beloved faces before their eyes,

Let them forget their weary bodies

And continue their path—

Teaching their children one path,

Giving them a boat with a lesson

learned through their eyes: we are nothing but our homeland.