Bright Birds

by Frederick C. Parmée

I hold them in my captive heart,
these bright caged birds
that sing the story of my people,
these deep-sounding ocean words of my language.
When shall I see them free in flight?

See, they flutter pitifully,
eager to be free. Must I
wait until they can no longer fly?
Until they can no longer make
the great word music of my tribe?

Come, bright birds, sing the old song
that your master the sun may have pity,
and you take flight, rise again
in countless clouds of fluttering wings
from the dark maraes of the city.