Tomorrow

Injustice but a word that was to be tossed around— a swirl of colors in a pot that would not melt the ingredient that would be but shouldn’t be but— so quiet now are the voice of the people A distance from Chicago but what does the heavy eye notice? To have come to a fork in the road— to take it. Who is woman to have a voice? Glamorous dresses and neatly-ironed suits these clothes have heads and the heads have— eyes; they glare. The question is unspoken but all the same. “Who is this woman to have a choice?” I am Diane Nash and who are these people— who glare and stare angrily at their exclusivity slipping, slipping, slipping, away? Who leer and mutter, “Insolent negro.” and turn their backs and think “That worthless nigger.” But I am Diane Nash in Nashville, On these city hall steps, I ask you So boldly as the ambience seethes in the light— But one question, Mr. Mayor: “Do you feel it is wrong to discriminate against a person solely on the basis of their race or color?” So I defy the crowd of glares The silly stares of those who cannot see that inside—my heart too, beats, a regular tempo of glorious life. Mr. Mayor knows it is wrong. And he responds in such manner a nod to equality and honor; A man of true faith. Three weeks from today, Lunch counters of Nashville would be free of segregation for any – whose heart beat on. The counters are here to have seat on that all blacks and whites could eat on that every, every heart could beat on solemn rights that no man could cheat on. Thus a half a decade in the future I see a bright and joyous balance Not quite paradise but not a hell A pot with love warm enough for melting. Facilities where the only segregation is— men’s room or women’s room. A time when discrimination Fades Away