Mother’s and Father’s day have come and gone. I do not put much to celebrate in that. But I found this beautiful poem by Langston Hughes on Facebook that explained why for me. It was written a very long time ago. Strange, but it could have been written today.
The Langston Hughes Poem:
This is for the kids who die
Black and white
For kids will die certainly.
The old and rich will live on a while 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 lousey peace.
Of course, the wise and the learned
Who pen editorials in papers,
And the gentlemen who have Dr in front of their names
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 bayonettes and bullets
To frighten 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 hand
And a song that reaches the sky—
The song of the life triumphants clasped as one,
And a song that reaches the sky—
The song of the life triumphant
Through the kids who die.
(Langston Hughes)