Fishing

Fishing– By Gopa Ranjan Mishra

Like a seasoned angler sure of his feat,

With fishing rod and line, and bait,

I said, “You all, wait for me,

Fish-fry tonight our dinner be.”

Though none of them did say a word

On my face, yet I heard

Some chuckles sure at my back;

I told myself, “Let me come back.”

To the nearby pond I straightaway ran

With fishing-tackle, and of course, a can;

The minutes passed and the hours dragged,

It seemed no luck that day I had.

I thought fish-less I’d return home

And would face the jeers of some.

I threw my line with a fervent wish,

“Oh God, today please give me a fish.”

And lo, the float sank, rose again

And popped its head to tell me then,

“This is just the time, you man,

To catch a fish if you can.”

Without delay I pulled the string,

And what a catch did it bring!

A one-foot fish, bright and fair,

That wriggled and wriggled in the air.

At this my joy knew no bound,

I ran excited round and round,

But with a gasping mouth and wistful look,

It seemed to say, “Please unhook

Me and let me go again,

To my home, my watery den.”

I did think of my three hours’ labour,

And the spicy fish-fry flavour.

Back home some mocking face would stare,

For nothing, however, I did care.

As the sun was sinking behind the hill,

A strange feeling my heart did fill.

In the evening’s crimson glow,

With greater joy, I let it go.