#AmericanWriters
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
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—
To fling my arms wide In some place of the sun, To whirl and to dance Till the white day is done. Then rest at cool evening
Where is the Jim Crow section On this merry—go—round, Mister, cause I want to ride? Down South where I come from White and colored
I went down to the river, I set down on the bank. I tried to think but couldn’t, So I jumped in and sank. I came up once and hollered!
The calm, Cool face of the river Asked me for a kiss.
Go home and write a page tonight. And let that page come out of you— Then, it will be true. I wonder if it’s that simple?
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run?
I, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh,
My old mule, He’s gota grin on his face. He’s been a mule so long He’s forgotten about his race. I’m like that old mule —
When the old junk man Death Comes to gather up our bodies And toss them into the sack of obl… I wonder if he will find The corpse of a white multi—millio…
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—
I’ve known rivers: I’ve known rivers ancient as the w… flow of human blood in human veins My soul has grown deep like the ri… I bathed in the Euphrates when da…
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—