Harlem

Langston Hughes • 1902-1967 

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?

Published in The Collected Works of Langston Hughes (2002)

Photo by Cyndi Gueswel