A poem by Lourenço Anunciação alongside one of his favourite pictures of Lisbon.
gently he raises his head and breathes in the seemingly endless sea
the clouds’ whispers had woken the old fisherman from his nap
but this was normal for Tuesday, for everyday he is in a hazy trance
only wakening to feed his mind the ever-blue tableau around his boat
chatting to himself he stops to consider; consider what you might ask?
first he asks the tuna if God will turn the lamp on come morning
or if the sun will ever rise again.
he discusses morality and mortality with the mussels
ethics, among other things, in the eels’ thoughts for the evening
and between their silky patrol of the waters, one shark asks the other
what makes one life better than another?
later he turns to the dolphins and opens his lips before the wind
words scatter like swallows disappearing into the shadows of the sky
a stream-of-consciousness for the salmons to savour
the old man and the sea, so soft is his soliloquy ‘what if the sky and the stars are for show,
and we are all puppets programmed to go?’
he then stops and stares into the eyes of the ocean
and wonders ‘what is this daily dance I do?
sometimes my life feels like a maze or a lonely book …’
but this newly born thought is usurped
a fleeting rhyme seeps into his mind ‘purple orange sky giving me a high,
only half alive in this life I call mine’
the light was brightening again, his doubts of the sun’s loyalties in vain
for returned she has this softly spoken flame
arching his back the man sits on the ship’s floor
he realised he had forgotten to fish again
his mind takes one last walk with the clouds
‘i was going to write a poem but how would anyone know?’
we are all playing a guessing game with no end
waiting silently for life to next move us and our moods
there is no rhyme or reason to life and love;
we are what we are,
we are all fishermen