My Dream

I have seen the face of man,

Not the outer flesh but the lurking stain—

A mask so proud, it veils the shame,

A crown of thorns worn in disdain.

He walks in marble halls of pride,

Yet crushes those who sleep outside,

He prays with lips of holy art,

But nails his neighbor through the heart.

He builds tall walls from colored skin,

Draws lines on maps with blood and sin.

He crafts fine laws, but bends their bones

To cage the weak in silent zones.

He plants his flags in foreign lands,

With open arms and iron hands—

Oh, what a curse this man became,

Who speaks of peace, yet breathes out flame.

His tongue—a serpent made of steel,

His heart—a forge that cannot feel,

His eyes—two torches blind with light,

That burn the truth and praise the night.

Discrimination in golden chains,

He hides behind what law ordains.

With pride, he builds a pedestal

Then kicks the ladder, guards the hall.

A brother born of mother’s womb

Is cast into an early tomb—

Because his hue did not agree

With someone else’s fantasy.

They humiliate with sharpened smile,

Then sentence hope without a trial.

In jails of silence, dreams decay,

As cruelty walks free by day.

They torture truth until it cries,

And beat the innocent with lies.

Force is their god, control their creed,

Their justice rusted, cracked by greed.

They call it order—what disgrace!

To chain the child, to brand the face,

To teach with guns and legislate

The ancient language of pure hate.

Where is the warmth? Where is the sun?

Where is the home for everyone?

We are not born with swords in hand,

But placed upon this sacred land—

To love, to live, to rise, to see

The light in each humanity.

But what is man, when dreams are dead?

A ghost who eats the world for bread.

But then—

I heard a sound, so soft, so true,

A whisper rising with the dew.

It spoke no words, it sang no rhyme,

Yet shook the stubborn hands of time.

It walked through ash, through war, through fire,

And rose like breath, and flew up higher.

It lit a candle in the cave—

And taught the chained how to be brave.

That sound was Dream. That breath was Hope.

A golden thread, a silver rope.

It climbed through darkness like a vine,

And touched the stars with heart divine.

It did not shout, it did not fight—

But turned the wrong into the right.

Where swords had ruled, it planted seeds.

Where pain had reigned, it healed the deeds.

A miracle wrapped in thought and flame,

It comes without a face or name.

It flows from children when they sleep,

From hearts that break, from souls that weep.

It is the voice the blind can see,

The light that sets the captive free.

It is the rose that blooms from thorn,

The day that follows endless scorn.

Dream changes fire into soft glow,

And melts the frost of hate we know.

It bends the cage until it breaks,

And frees the dove, and shakes the snakes.

It turns the courtroom into song,

The silent crowd into the strong.

It walks where none dare place a step,

And wipes the tears no one has wept.

My Dream begins where hate is crushed,

Where every whip and weapon's hushed.

Where every skin is honored bright,

Not cursed by color, crowned by light.

A day shall dawn when hearts unite,

And all are clothed in shared delight.

Where not a man shall rule with fear,

Nor call another “slave” or “queer”.

No more the pride that builds a throne

Upon the backs of flesh and bone.

No more the mocking of the poor

From windows lined with wealth and war.

No more humiliation’s kiss

That poisons joy and drowns the bliss.

No more the child sold to despair,

While heaven weeps without a prayer.

I dream a world—oh yes, I do—

Where no one asks, “What shade are you?”

Where prisons crumble into dust,

And laws are forged in love and trust.

Where cruel hands are taught to sew,

And justice wears no chains below.

Where even those who wronged the most

Are welcomed in with tears and toast.

I dream of tables long and wide,

With brothers seated side by side.

Where no one starves while others feast,

And kindness walks the world unleashed.

Where cruelty is called by name,

And burned without a spark of shame.

Where hate is taught no longer there,

But traded for a world that cares.

I dream of laughter in the streets,

Where strangers dance, and dreamers meet.

Where flags no longer mean divide,

But tell the tales of those who tried.

Where every soul is seen, is heard,

And not a single prayer deferred.

Where children grow with boundless light,

And never learn the taste of fright.

I dream that chains once used to bind

Shall now be melted into mind.

That iron bars once meant for war

Will hold up roofs and build a door.

That every wall shall be a screen

To show us what the world can mean.

And every scar upon our past

Will light the road to peace at last.

This dream is not a lie, my friend,

It is the means, the will, the end.

It is the river in the drought,

The song that silences the shout.

It is the bridge we all must tread,

If we are not to wake up dead.

It is the fire within the clay,

The star that leads us through the gray.

But dreams must walk, not merely stay

In pillow's silk and memory’s sway.

They must be built with calloused hand,

And written bold across the land.

They must be shared, must be declared—

A flag for those who never dared.

A drum for those whose voice was drowned,

A sword of peace, a healing sound.

So rise, O souls that dare to dream!

And sew the world a newer seam.

Where what was lost is found once more,

And what was closed becomes a door.

Let every man, from east to west,

Hold love within his human chest.

Let woman speak with strength and fire,

And lift her daughters ever higher.

Let none be bowed, let none be caged,

Let none be mocked, let none enraged.

Let every human, rich or poor,

Be valued more than gold or war.

Let justice ring not just in courts,

But in the hearts of every sort.

And let the Dream, the sacred flame,

Write “Brotherhood” in every name.

Oh yes—I have a Dream that burns,

A tide that tides, a wheel that turns.

And when this Dream begins to breathe,

The world will put down sword and sheath.

It will embrace, not just endure—

And make our long-lost love more pure.

The night will fade, the dawn will gleam—

All things are born when we dare dream.