Hughes and Naomi

A Dream Deferred by Langston Hughes

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

...

Hughes is one of my favorite writers. And his poem seems to fit the mood that keeps me company tonight.

...

Dream by Naomi

Reality can be a brutal bitch
-when you live haphadardly in your dreams.
You fear hoping that your dreams will sneak out
from the secret pockets of your soul,
and burst open like a New Year's Eve popper.
You hold that nagging bit of pessimism a little too tightly,
refusing to let your imagination run.
But your hope and giddy, swooning heart talk
those loud...screaming...negative thoughts
down to a dull whisper.
Your body and mind become comfortable,
with the thought of successful dream achievement.
And when you are too drunk
from the delight
of the possibility,
the probability,
of your dreams living true in technicolor brightness;
the cruel, cold, apathetic, stark truth smacks you
until your face swells and your nose bleeds.
After several ass-kickings, you realize the torture of dreaming
...and stop.

(031104)