#AmericanWriters
The night is beautiful, So the faces of my people. The stars are beautiful, So the eyes of my people. Beautiful, also, is the sun.
What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run?
Being walkers with the dawn and mo… Walkers with the sun and morning, We are not afraid of night, Nor days of gloom, Nor darkness—
Good morning, daddy! Ain’t you heard The boogie—woogie rumble Of a dream deferred? Listen closely:
Clean the spittoons, boy. Detroit, Chicago, Atlantic City, Palm Beach.
When the shoe strings break On both your shoes And you’re in a hurry— That’s the blues. When you go to buy a candy bar
God in His infinite wisdom Did not make me very wise— So when my actions are stupid They hardly take God by surprise
In an envelope marked: PERSONAL God addressed me a letter. In an envelope marked: PERSONAL
I worked for a woman, She wasn’t mean— But she had a twelve—room House to clean. Had to get breakfast,
I look at the world From awakening eyes in a black fac… And this is what I see: This fenced—off narrow space Assigned to me.
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
It was a long time ago. I have almost forgotten my dream. But it was there then, In front of me, Bright like a sun—
That Justice is a blind goddess Is a thing to which we black are w… Her bandage hides two festering so… That once perhaps were eyes.
We passed their graves: The dead men there, Winners or losers, Did not care. In the dark
Gather quickly Out of darkness All the songs you know And throw them at the sun Before they melt