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We have tomorrow right before us like a flame
Dream Deferred
Poem by Langston HughesSlideshow by Francis Rosario
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 curst and sugar over—like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags like a heavy load
Or does it just explode?
Soweto district, 1976