Lyrics of Life
Poetry is untranslatable, like the whole art.
10 जून 2021
Harlem
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
कोई टिप्पणी नहीं:
एक टिप्पणी भेजें
‹
›
मुख्यपृष्ठ
वेब वर्शन देखें
कोई टिप्पणी नहीं:
एक टिप्पणी भेजें