“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…