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A Weaver

I am no fisherman

But I weave a fishing net

With my fingers that never dig rubbles with ashes


Nor stroke the cold, lifeless skin of my grandmother

Nor pick up the rotten limbs and scattered bones of my children


I am no fisherman

But I watch seagulls and talk to the Ruler of the sea

Who whispers me a tale about the strongest wave in all oceans 

It’s made of your tears and blood

Rolling and dancing with the winds


O Ruler of the sea

Ease their pain and hold them in Your arms

Caress their hair and kiss them gently

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