Ode to Sunny the Canary by Claudio Wye (January 1998) How sweetly do you sing, most wondrous Sunny! How beautifully do you speak to my restless soul My little puff-ball! so bubbly and so delightful! You' ve touched and thrilled my heart like no other And filled my lonesome spirit to full measure. In weather fair or foul, from early morn to late dusk Unsolicited and so generously you sing for me Full-throated songs of mirth and praise unabating That dispel any stormy clouds, any hint of sadness From a bountiful source in Earth' s lost paradise. Before the sun did shine and the flowers did bloom But now that you' ve unveiled yourself to the world Sunlight itself is tinged with hues subtle and heavenly! Now I know what the immortal poets of old meant When they said songbirds were in Heaven made. For who would deny you the supremacy if not of the air Certainly of the enthralling realm of sweet melodies. Oh! precious little bird full of mirth and earthly delight Your ancestors would be so proud of how well you sing They who amongst ancient boughs on a remote island Did bring forth the first of your incomparable breed. Eons and eons must have passed before mortal man Chanced to sight your ancestral abode, an isle fair And serene with bubbling brooks and laughing streams; Of green grassy hills, of gentle valleys, of lovely flowers That must oft have enticed many a lone cast-out demi-god; For only in a land of such bounty in the sun-swept Tropics Could such virtuosos of sound have been born and bred! Oh, Sunny! I wish I could fly you back to your ancestral isle Where you could truly taste of life' s limitless pleasures. Sometimes when I watch you forage for your favourite seeds At the bottom of your safe domain which we know as cage Or peck at your own reflection I wonder what atavistic Impulse urges you on to wait and wait for the dark-eyed junkos These wild, tenacious snow-birds that hail from northern climes From coniferous land, the land of wild and frigid imaginings Only to imitate them in this unending ritual of cooing hops And trilling pecks that you keep in store just for them! Mischievous little bird, will I ever pierce the great mysteries Of your colourful dreams? Will you ever let me even once enter This lovely little head of yours which enthralls me so much And which in a manner all your own you puff up with such pride? Sunny boy, you little imp! come closer, let me caress these Oft-preened feathers of yours, and hear your little heart beating And hold you against my cheek with whispers of soft delight. Oh, my little Sunny! If only Man could sing the way you do And give joy so bountiful and melodies so sweet, oh, yes! He would not burden his mind with empty and petty thoughts Nor would his days be full of senseless and wearisome toil And he would know of the angels' tuneful harp and sweet solace. You know but the hour when sunrise makes the eastern sky Glow and sunset makes the birds fly away to their twilight rest. You worry not about Man' s vain enterprises or his puffed-up stance His empty words, his pompous looks or his foolish dreams; All you know is to sing when it is light and sleep when it is night. Your cage is pretty small but isn' t ours one that our mind denies Though its strands invisible and unyielding are no less real? Are you any less fragile in your one ounce of mortal flesh Than us in our own vulnerable frame, this devilish impediment That condemns us to space and time, robbing us of aerial freedom? Teach me, oh, Sunny, the true meaning of Beauty, of Life itself: Is it to chase after flimsy dreams of ephemeral greatness Of empty conquests in barren lands, of fleeting loves and lusts Which gnaw at the soul and grays the hair afore its time? Or is it not to be found in these soul-searching black eyes of yours? Fate does spin intricate webs indeed; and at times, it would seem Listening to your melodious tunes that life could be so simple And each day should be lived in cupfuls of honeydew and merriment Before death spins its final web and we dance our very last jig With heavy heart o' erburdened by haunting memories of lost souls. My Sunny boy! Long after you' re gone, the drowsy memory Of your beautiful voice will linger on in the deepest recesses Of my mind. You brought me joy and consolation unequalled And you made me look up to the sky and the distant stars With renewed faith in the meaningful pattern of the Universe. The memory of you will live on like a dying rose in a summer garden Like voices from distant shores on a moonlit melancholy night When the soul is at peace with the gods and their universe And Nature' s beauty is to be seen in every hill, in every mountain, In all the trees and flowers, in all the rivers and streams that God Benevolent and kind bestows on all undeserving mankind To be cherished and loved with profound and everlasting reverence. Sunny, in your songs joy and sadness are intermingled Tears spring forth even when the sun shines bright and warm For won' t this earth be a doleful place when you' re gone from me? Claudio Wye January 1998
