Debmalya Bandyopadhyay: Fisherboy


A boy is fishing on a lake.      His eyes
are cast wide                                       over the water
like a fishing net. The water is                                   punctuated
with mackerel finned                          clouds,
its wet refrain                                      his hourglass.

A boy is at the lake and                      a fishing pole is dangling
around his mouth; not quite danger but                      the idea of danger
dormant in the wind’s saline swerve.

Two old tunes shimmer in him 
and he chooses both –                         the bait
and the hook, each becoming
the other. His heart keeping                absence
like an abandoned sandcastle,

its chambers calloused like                                         a father’s hand
shuffling sand in his hair. The father
asleep in the lake and the lake wide               awake
in him, the waves dribbling at                        his
feet with                                              soft Hallelujahs.         

This is the past:                       a flooding.
This is the lake:                       a flatbed.
And this
is the boy:       undissolved, unflinching
in his twin songs, hunger
murky in him like algal bloom.

This is when a fish
crowns over the water’s
crescent in a slow arpeggio and                      home
is a now a tide                                     breaking low;
the resolve,
the tug                                     unwavering
from his fishbone                    hands.

Salt-washed, pearl-eyed,                                 the boy alone
knows this is pride foaming up                       at his shore
like a gale endured,
like a crescendo conquered,
its thudding cowered to
his own name, his own name,                         fisherman.


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