It has certainly exploded. Some Dreams deferred cannot possibly have a good outcome, Dr. King's Dream should have come to pass long before now. I Love this Poem by Langston Hughes.
At this stage (and based on the news coverage we see here) I am ready to see you all storming the palaces of corruption any day now. In my mind, I see images of people crashing through the gates of Marcos' palace in Manila, Ceausescu's in Bucharest, Peron's in Buenos Aires and so on. I am serious.
Let's make a pact; from now on only refer to him as Bunkerboy. Such an aggressive character too. Got the chance to be really aggressive way back but decided the Mekong Delta wasn't for him. Didn't want to risk his bony spur.
The Hughes' poem puts an end to a conundrum that dates back to 1959, my annus mirabilis - the year I left the West Riding for good, started work in London, met my wife to be, and the sun shone right into October. A play by Lorraine Hansberry was launched, called A Raisin in the Sun. The internet had yet to be invented and - lazily - I speculated. Was it a rite-of-passage drama about someone brought up in the summery climes of Tennessee or Mississipi? Being "raised" there, you see. But I was having my own rite of passage and I didn't pursue things too far. Finally, just ahead of the final gong, I am enlightened. There is no g missing from the end of raisin, turning it from a dried fruit into a gerund. Glad that's done with.
Sometimes a dream deferred is just that... a pleasant dream. It can be cherished forever.
ReplyDeleteI guess it depends on why the dream is deferred. If it is not by choice, it can drag someone down...
ReplyDeleteOften when you get what you want, it is seldom as good as you expected. The journey and anticipation is usually the best part
ReplyDeleteIt has certainly exploded. Some Dreams deferred cannot possibly have a good outcome, Dr. King's Dream should have come to pass long before now. I Love this Poem by Langston Hughes.
ReplyDeleteMe, too. Seems timely.
DeleteAmen.
ReplyDeleteA clenched fist emoji seems appropriate if I could figure out how to add it here.
DeleteAt this stage (and based on the news coverage we see here) I am ready to see you all storming the palaces of corruption any day now.
ReplyDeleteIn my mind, I see images of people crashing through the gates of Marcos' palace in Manila, Ceausescu's in Bucharest, Peron's in Buenos Aires and so on. I am serious.
45 is hiding in a bunker.
DeleteTakes my breath away Colette. Thank you, thank you for sharing♥
ReplyDeleteYou are welcome.
DeleteExactly. People can only be systematically thwarted for so long.
ReplyDeleteSo true.
DeleteLet's make a pact; from now on only refer to him as Bunkerboy. Such an aggressive character too. Got the chance to be really aggressive way back but decided the Mekong Delta wasn't for him. Didn't want to risk his bony spur.
ReplyDeleteThe Hughes' poem puts an end to a conundrum that dates back to 1959, my annus mirabilis - the year I left the West Riding for good, started work in London, met my wife to be, and the sun shone right into October. A play by Lorraine Hansberry was launched, called A Raisin in the Sun. The internet had yet to be invented and - lazily - I speculated. Was it a rite-of-passage drama about someone brought up in the summery climes of Tennessee or Mississipi? Being "raised" there, you see. But I was having my own rite of passage and I didn't pursue things too far. Finally, just ahead of the final gong, I am enlightened. There is no g missing from the end of raisin, turning it from a dried fruit into a gerund. Glad that's done with.
Nice.
Delete