The Bitter Fisherman’s Memories
I am a bitter memory that is
Constantly fighting with myself.
I am a poor river flowing.
I am a torrent river moving.
To the east, and to the west,
A gentle wind blows.
Overcast in all of its shadows,
The mountains lead to the river.
I found my home into myself.
And gentle winds blow.
Softly the gentle waters run
Straight to the mountain,
And everything is satisfied in it.
The ducks are satisfied because they
Get their fish. The geese are satisfied.
Even the deer.
Everyone is satisfied but the
fisherman,
Because they run or fly when he is
coming,
And animals are terrified of
man.
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