#Americans #Blacks
I worked for a woman, She wasn’t mean— But she had a twelve—room House to clean. Had to get breakfast,
The calm, Cool face of the river Asked me for a kiss.
Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams
When you turn the corner And you run into yourself Then you know that you have turned All the corners that are left
I am your son, white man! Georgia dusk And the turpentine woods. One of the pillars of the temple f… You are my son!
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…
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…
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
By what sends the white kids I ain’t sent: I know I can’t be President.
I was so sick last night I Didn’t hardly know my mind. So sick last night I Didn’t know my mind. I drunk some bad licker that
I could take the Harlem night and wrap around you, Take the neon lights and make a cr… Take the Lenox Avenue busses, Taxis, subways,
My name is Johnson— Madam Alberta K. The Madam stands for business. I’m smart that way. I had a
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?
I know I am The Negro Problem Being wined and dined, Answering the usual questions That come to white mind