His Song and Mine

Sympathy BY PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR I know what the caged bird feels, alas! When the sun is bright on the upland slopes; When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass, And the river flows like a stream of glass; When the first bird sings and the first bud opes, And the faint perfume from its chalice steals— I know what the caged bird feels! I know why the caged bird beats his wing Till its blood is red on the cruel bars; For he must fly back to his perch and cling When he fain would be on the bough a-swing; And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars And they pulse again with a keener sting— I know why he beats his wing! I know why the caged bird sings, ah me, When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,— When he beats his bars and he would be free; It is not a carol of joy or glee, But a prayer that he sends from his heart’s deep core, But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings— I know why the caged bird sings! Why Do I Write? You ask me why I sing? You ask me why I write? You ask me why I bleed? What choice have I besides? I long to fly, to run away To some safe haven just to play To see the light of blessed day And give my longing heart full sway I want to grasp the star and moon And live my life; t'will end too soon And kiss the clouds up in the sky But here am I, what choice have I? Why do I sing? Why do I cry? Why write of pain No lullaby? What choice have I? I want with zeal to be adored And I want Fame there at my door I want IT ALL and so much more Tell me, is anything for sure? Why so I beat my wing? I was born to soar… Eileen Manassian Ghali