The Dream-To Mr. Hughes

Dream deferred

“What happens to a dream deferred?”

It became life as I know, Mr. Hughes.

It flew and soared like a bird.

I came to tell you the news.

I’m a credible source.

You and I wear the same shoes.

At times, it was desiccated.

Dry, like Arizona desert sand.

But now it’s hydrated.

A dream blacks did demand.

It used to be a bubbling sore

Or the pain of a deep wound.

But it is stiff, and hard as a floor.

It is bold and fine-tuned.

In the early 1900s blacks could only dream

Of what we now can do.

I know in your time it’d never seem

But I tell you it’s true.

The dream is candied.

I wish you could live now to see

It doesn’t smell like rotten meat.

Oh, how I wish you could see.

Racism still boldly exists.

Some souls still hate us.

But our dreams weren’t dismissed

They shine and don’t rust.

There is discrimination.

There is still prejudice.

But we have determination.

We hold up our black fists!

Mr. Hughes, it didn’t explode.

I’m saying it happened.

Mr. Hughes, it didn’t erode.

It’s the dream you imagined.

%d bloggers like this: