10/11/2025
Life of a fisherman.
Before dawn hums its first low tune,
He walks the sand beneath the moon,
Bare feet whisper where dhows still sleep,
The tide his clock, the sea his keep.
A lantern swings, the stars lean near,
He tastes the salt, the edge of fear,
Then pushes out through silver foam,
The sea his labor, love, and home.
Lines cast deep in coral breath,
Where morning hides the night’s slow death,
The net, a prayer to gods of wave,
To bless the catch, the day, the brave.
By sunrise, sails like ghosts return,
Their bellies full, their shoulders burn,
Children cheer along the sand,
Women wait with baskets in hand.