#Americans #Blacks
Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:
When you turn the corner And you run into yourself Then you know that you have turned All the corners that are left
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—
Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment
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?
In places like Selma, Alabama, Kids say, In places like Chicago and New York...
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
Listen! Dear dream of utter aliveness— Touching my body of utter death— Tell me, O quickly! dream of aliv… The flaming source of your bright…
Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams
My old man’s a white old man And my old mother’s black. If ever I cursed my white old man I take my curses back. If ever I cursed my black old mot…
The calm, Cool face of the river Asked me for a kiss.
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
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
It’s such a Bore Being always Poor.
He glides so swiftly Back into the grass— Gives me the courtesy of road To let me pass, That I am half ashamed