#AmericanWriters #BlackWriters
I dream a world where man No other man will scorn, Where love will bless the earth And peace its paths adorn I dream a world where all
I know I am The Negro Problem Being wined and dined, Answering the usual questions That come to white mind
We passed their graves: The dead men there, Winners or losers, Did not care. In the dark
When a man starts out with nothing… When a man starts out with his han… Empty, but clean, When a man starts to build a world… He starts first with himself
Have you dug the spill Of Sugar Hill? Cast your gims On this sepia thrill: Brown sugar lassie,
I will take you heart. I will take your soul out of your… As though I were God. I will not be satisfied With the touch of your hand
In the Quarter of the Negroes Where the doors are doors of paper Dust of dingy atoms Blows a scratchy sound. Amorphous jack—o’—Lanterns caper
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 work all day, Said Simple John, Myself a house to buy. I work all day, Said Simple John,
I’ve known rivers: I’ve known rivers ancient as the w… My soul has grown deep like the ri… I bathed in the Euphrates when da… I built my hut near the Congo and…
I, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh,
When you turn the corner And you run into yourself Then you know that you have turned All the corners that are left
By what sends the white kids I ain’t sent: I know I can’t be President.
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—
It’s such a Bore Being always Poor.
