My North Star
When I was in the third grade, Sister Rosalie, as part of her teaching syllabus, exposed our class of thirty-five to the world of poetry. She would read a poem aloud in class , and then for homework, we had to memorize that poem. The next day the class would begin with each student being called to individually recite a stanza from our assignment.
That year I became acquainted with several poems. Out of all of the lyrics I was required to commit to memory, only one continues to hold court in my mind and has become my north star.
With hindsight, I realize that the reciting of this poem in class would become a pivotal moment in my life. In a New York City classroom, on a grey, cold winter day , my imagination would be captured by the power of words. The poem was “Dream” by Langston Hughes.
Africa, America Langston Hughes, 2017 by MAKEBA RAINEY
He was the only black poet we studied that year. His words captured my imagination, not because we had the same race in common, but I believe now that my soul was predestined to receive his message.
For Langston Hughes, the meaning behind his words was an anthem to African Americans, referred to as colored people. The message of the poem was to never-give-up despite living in a society that had a propensity for segregation & unjust leanings.
But, for my 8-year-old mind, the Poet’s use of the word dream, combined with verbal images of crippling bleakness, became a metaphor for the importance of creating and maintaining one’s dreams. A belief that life could be altered and enhanced by holding a vision and a desire for more. In fact, failure to dream would be paramount to losing hope and a brighter future. Therefore, it was my duty to dream.
With age, my dreams became more prominent, and these dreams would become a platform for building a life worth embracing. This concept of dreaming gave me room to explore possibilities and create scenarios that took me down less-traveled paths. By holding fast to dreams, I did not allow the limitations of age, race, or gender to impede my explorations.
I never doubted my ability to turn my visions into reality, even when some said I could not. The results of tightly holding my aspirations have supported a long-term marriage, gifted me with motherhood, and continues to feed a deeply satisfying career.
This poem continues to play a melody in my mind as I joyfully envision the next chapters in my life.
Dreams
Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.
