I wrote this in my Grade 13 year in Art class (‘Early 1986). It wasn’t an assignment, just something I chose to write near some doodles of a loon.
—
The cry of the bird
The beauty of the bird disguises the pain
But it’s call is not heard anymore
Unless you go north where it is slowly but surely disappearing there too
The pain is not that of the individual bird but that of the species
It cries out but nobody listens
The beauty is lost
Who can find beauty in a world of pain
Goodbye beauty
Goodbye bird
Goodbye pain
There is nothing left to feel the pain
Its life is over
The bird will not sing for our grandchildren
There will be nothing but a flying animal that they may some day read about in a book
An illusion on paper
That sings no songs
Feels no pain
Perhaps it may have beauty
But it is not the same
It is not the same.
_____
*Update: A friend sent this to me. I forgot that this poem was printed in our school yearbook.