Sympathy ➶

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!

By Paul Laurence Dunbar. Via Maya Angelou’s book I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.

Today is Juneteenth, and I am angry at us human beings.

We are the most dangerous creatures on Earth, and perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if some cataclysm or other from the Cosmos would destroy us all, or at the very least the White House, the Zhongnanhai, the Kremlin and the people currently in them.

Two films to watch at this time: Hidden Figures and Green Book.

I’m now headed to RPS to try and cheer up by reading Caldwell’s words about the 8 bleakest post-apocalypses in PC games.

✶ Friday, 19 June 2020

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