May. 11, 2020
Harlem USA Sold Not Stole For Fool’s Gold
How could we have sold the homes of Countee, Langston, Dorothy, and Lorraine? Did we keep place where the Reds first met? You know Detroit and Foxx? How about the spots where black geniuses mingled while Duke and Ella tingled the bells of modern jazz. Don’t tell that is for naught not those places where love strings were caught. Now where will those all giant ghosts of yesterdays roam? I can’t imagine that today’s Harlem is now home. Tell me this. Can Langston, Countee, Johnson, and all the other greats invade those homes of stolen souls now owned by peoples not known to them? All those wondrous souls who embodied our people's spirit; our people's struggle; our people's dreams; even our peoples desolate dreams? Yes, these greats created our peoples magic; our people's sense of worth. We sold nothing was stole. Why? Because we could; why the hell not; we should, shouldn't we? Dammit black folks chasing green forget all dead giant’s dreams. What happens to a dream deferred? It end up in a realtor’s scheme and that my brothers and sisters is the end of that magnificent dream. What happens to a raisin in the sun well you better catch because the seller is now on the run. Goodbye sweet Harlem we hardly knew thee. In comes others who will cherish not those sweet sprinkles of days past. Who now keeps that rich history of yesterday's past? It surely isn't those who eagerly sold it so easily away sold it away. Damn can’t those pitiful dollars sway?