Fishermen by Peter Siska

We are still waiting.

A sound mind is: oblivion,

says a man.

Grinning,

he’s eating his fish

raw.

It’s noon,

The sun is not moving above

anymore.

Doldrums,

living, salty air.

The murmur of the waves.

He will return.

I say, but the sound

is not mine

anymore.

The words

just fall out

of my mouth.

I look at the clouds.

The water. The place,

where the sea and the sky

are one.

Where everything

cleans into silence.

---

Peter Siska was born in 1984 in Hungary. He graduated from the University of Miskolc, now working as a literature teacher in a high school. He has published his poems, among others, in Tiszatáj, Ezredvég, Ex Symposion, Opus literary journals and several anthologies. His first volume of poems, entitled A rend, amiről a tárgyak beszélnek (The order that the objects are talking about) was published in 2021 by the renowned publisher Parnasszus in Hungary.