He’s still here with his

Hands and fingers of iron,

His demonic voice;

The ugly, cavernous snarl

Rising early in the small hall of the

Blue house


My neck… Tightened. Long scarves and

Words that I will not forget.

Tears fall down like heavy blows


Iron that hurts; iron of the damned ones —

Inside myself I hung sideways

Because I was a fish, caught…

And airless. I struggled under the shadow of

The fisherman


I heard someone say that behind him they could see

The sun …

I freeze in my shell. The door trembles.

I hear the footsteps, and I already know




PS. Read the original version in Portuguese here (with a few small differences)

I wrote this poem a few years ago, probably in 2013. My translation is pretty poor, and I apologize (to?) for how loose and inaccurate it is. Although my original poem was pretty badly written, I guess it shows raw emotion, so I decided that I should post it.


3 thoughts on “Fisherman

  1. I just spent a while scrolling down your blog, you have left some utterly fantastic poems! I am glad you told me on your comment on my page earlier that it made you smile, because you deserve to be smiling! Stay strong, and keep up with your posts! I am looking forward to seeing them on my newsfeed from now on! :)

    Liked by 1 person

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