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Poetry Sunday: Kids Who Die

In 1938, Langston Hughes wrote this poem which was influenced by the reality of life under Jim Crow laws for people of color in this country. Sadly, the words of the poem still seem quite current here in the 21st century. I am particularly struck, though, by the hope and dream expressed in the last several lines of the poem beginning with "But the day will come-" 

The yearned-for day still hasn't arrived, but we continue to look forward to its coming.

Kids Who Die
by Langston Hughes
This is for the kids who die,
Black and white,
For kids will die certainly.
The old and rich will live on awhile,
As always,
Eating blood and gold,
Letting kids die.
Kids will die in the swamps of Mississippi
Organizing sharecroppers
Kids will die in the streets of Chicago
Organizing workers
Kids will die in the orange groves of California
Telling others to get together
Whites and Filipinos,
Negroes and Mexicans,
All kinds of kids will die
Who don’t believe in lies, and bribes, and contentment
And a lousy peace.
Of course, the wise and the learned
Who pen editorials in the papers,
And the gentlemen with Dr. in front of their names
White and black,
Who make surveys and write books
Will live on weaving words to smother the kids who die,
And the sleazy courts,
And the bribe-reaching police,
And the blood-loving generals,
And the money-loving preachers
Will all raise their hands against the kids who die,
Beating them with laws and clubs and bayonets and bullets
To frighten the people—
For the kids who die are like iron in the blood of the people—
And the old and rich don’t want the people
To taste the iron of the kids who die,
Don’t want the people to get wise to their own power,
To believe an Angelo Herndon, or even get together
Listen, kids who die—
Maybe, now, there will be no monument for you
Except in our hearts
Maybe your bodies’ll be lost in a swamp
Or a prison grave, or the potter’s field,
Or the rivers where you’re drowned like Leibknecht
But the day will come—
You are sure yourselves that it is coming—
When the marching feet of the masses
Will raise for you a living monument of love,
And joy, and laughter,
And black hands and white hands clasped as one,
And a song that reaches the sky—
The song of the life triumphant
Through the kids who die.

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Comments

  1. CarmenAugust 16, 2015 at 1:38 PM

    I have a dream...

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Dorothy BordersAugust 16, 2015 at 2:53 PM

      As do I. Let's hope our dreams are some day realized.

      Delete
  2. Pam's English GardenAugust 16, 2015 at 7:11 PM

    Such a powerful poem, Dorothy. Hard to believe it was written so long ago. P. x

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Dorothy BordersAugust 16, 2015 at 10:38 PM

      Yes, unfortunately, it seems as though it could have been written only yesterday.

      Delete

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