It is the Negro's tragedy I feel Which binds me like a heavy iron chain, It is the Negro's wounds I want to heal Because I know the keenness of his pain. Only a thorn-crowned Negro, and no white Can penetrate into the Negro's ken, Or feel the thickness of the shroud of night Which hides and buries him from the other men. So what I write is urged out of my blood. There is no white man who could write my book, Though many think their story should be told Of what the Negro people ought to brook. Our statesmen roam the world to set things right. The Negro laughs and prays to God for Light! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...COMING DOWN TO THE DESERT AT LORDBURG, N.M. by HAYDEN CARRUTH CONTRA MORTEM: THE TREES by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE GREAT RACE PASSES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE NEGRO DANCERS by CLAUDE MCKAY IN GRANTCHESTER MEADOWS; ON HEARING A SKYLARK SING by GEORGE SANTAYANA VIGNETTES OVERSEAS: 11. HAMBURG by SARA TEASDALE EPISTLE IN FORM OF A BALLAD TO HIS FRIENDS by FRANCOIS VILLON |