The blackened, tarred bird, washed ashore.
Juxtaposed between the pristine tree line
and the oily, smelly sludge it floated from.
It spoke...
Not with sounds, for it was already dead
but as an unwilling martyr with a “scream, ”
a scream that made tears gush… why?
and Gaia cried.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem