My thoughts shall be
Hot ashes
Burning all in its path.
I shall not stop
Because critics sneer,
Nor stoop to fawning
At man's mere fancy.
I shall breathe
A clearer freer air
For I shall see the sun
Above the crowd.
I shall not blush
And make excuse
When a son of Adam,
Who calls himself
"God's Layman,"
Slashes with scorn
A thing born from
Truth's womb and nursed
By beauty. It will not
Matter who stoops
To cast the first stone.
Does not my spirit
Soar above these feeble
Minds? Thoughts born
From prejudice's womb
And nursed by tradition?
I will shatter the wall
Of darkness that rises
From gleaming day
And seeks to hide the sun.
I will turn this wall of
Darkness (that is night)
Into a thing of beauty.
I will take from the hearts
Of black men-
Prayers their lips
Are 'fraid to utter.
And turn their coarseness
Into a beauty of the jungle
Whence they came.
The lava from the black volcano
Shall be words, the ashes, thoughts
Of all men.