The Cry of the Tucan

After the flood swallowed his village, Iago, 13, hadn’t spoken a word. His parents were gone, and he wandered the forest alone, refusing to return to the shelters in town.

One morning, a tucano with a beak like fire landed nearby. Its eyes watched Iago silently… then it let out a long, aching cry — like a sob.

The bird returned again the next day, and the next. Then one morning, it dropped a scrap of paper from its beak — a page torn from Iago’s old school notebook. It held a single word, written in his father’s familiar hand:

Iago stood frozen. Rain mixed with his tears.

The tucano cried out again — this time with strength.

Iago fell to his knees and whispered for the first time in weeks:

And something shifted.

The air brightened. The wind stirred the canopy above. The trees swayed, and the cry of the toucan echoed like a prayer returned.

From that day forward, whenever Iago whispered Al-Ḥayy, he felt a spark rise in his chest — not just breath, but life itself.

FIM

🪶 Key Quote:

1. Arabic: ٱلْحَيُّ يُحْيِي مَا مَاتَ فِيَّ

2. Transliteration: Al-Ḥayy yuḥyī mā māta fiyya

3. Translation: The Ever-Living revives what had died inside me