“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?”
~Langston Hughes
Giving up was not my call.
But everything became
so complicated and entangled
that I had to stop-
I had to trace my steps back
I had to return home-
Leaving it all behind.
Leaving it in mud and tears.
But before leaving I made a prayer
to bind us together with love and
pure devotion.
Indeed, that tie weathered
with changing seasons
but even in the ending and
nothingness, we remained
the same.
And one night, my heart
throbbed so strongly that
I had to give in.
I picked the paper from the side
drawer and began scribbling as if
this is the last time, I am holding the
paper and pen and there is so much
to write, and so much to tell.
It is then that I realized
I write for passion.
I write for power.
I write to heal those wounds of mine
that is invisible to friendly eyes.
References:
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46548/harlem
https://in.pinterest.com/pin/665899494916671040/
