Before the action begins in Donja R. Love’s new play, “soft,” audiences are greeted by a set, designed by Adam Rigg, that surrounds a spartan classroom with lush flower beds. The seats are then showered with what at first appear to be rose petals, though it turns out they’re merely circles of orange paper.

It’s not until about 100 minutes later, as “soft” is drawing to a close, that its characters and viewers — some of them, at least — will get to embrace the roses, lilacs, and lilies, and all they represent. By then, Mr. Love will have delivered an account of young black men facing formidable challenges and expectations that is by turns shattering, deeply lyrical, and very funny. 

“Soft” is set in a “juvenile boarding school,” as the school’s director calls it, noting that this is a euphemism for “a correctional center that houses delinquents.” None of the students are there by choice — unless you count choosing to avoid hard time in prison — but an idealistic young teacher, Mr. Isaiah, is intent on recognizing their potential, and convincing them to do the same.

The director, Mr. Cartwright, once held Mr. Isaiah’s job and is dubious. “Teachers before you couldn’t make it,” the older man warns him, adding, “All you have to remember is, don’t let these boys get the best of you.”

You needn’t be a modern Nostradamus to guess that Mr. Isaiah will be tested, repeatedly and brutally, or that he will nonetheless form a unique bond with his charges. Yet supported by Whitney White’s robust direction of a flawless cast, Mr. Love makes the often fraught connections forged between teacher and students, and between the students themselves, compelling throughout.

As the play opens, Mr. Isaiah is leading his class through a dissection of “Othello” that evolves into a playful rap battle. Biko Eisen-Martin captures the teacher’s rapport with his pupils as effortlessly and endearingly as he will later evince his frustration with them — and with the systemic obstacles facing them, both within the facility and outside it.

After just a couple of scenes, in fact, a tragic event exacerbates tensions that had been simmering in his classroom, and proves a catalyst for more unsettling analysis. In one searing exchange, the young men are asked to recall the first time they heard the racist epithet they now hurl at each other, and some of their answers illustrate troubling personal details.

In exploring the role identity can play in oppression and alienation, “soft” doesn’t limit its focus to race. Mr. Love identifies as queer and is HIV-positive, and the play’s title is meant to suggest both associated stereotypes and the dangers that can lurk in rigid notions of masculinity. The latter, certainly, have devastating consequences here, in more than one instance.

“Soft” nonetheless retains a defiant buoyancy, enhanced by the marvelous performances that Mr. Whitney culls from his actors. There’s the expert slyness that Travis Raeburn brings to Bashir, a cunning underachiever, and Dario Vazquez’s loose-limbed charisma as Jamal, a bright, ambitious young man whose easy confidence masks a dark secret. 

As Dee, the only openly gay member of the group, an exuberant Essence Lotus provides some of the production’s most hilarious and touching moments. Ed Ventura and Dharon Jones lend added poignance as, respectively, Eddie, who numbs his misery with booze, and Antione, a gifted artist with a quick temper and a secret of his own.

The always excellent Leon Addison Brown relays the more seasoned despair of Mr. Cartwright, whose veneer of callousness and cynicism wears away as he grows closer to Mr. Isaiah. Like some other character arcs in “soft,” his is not entirely unpredictable; the tough, jaded veteran whose conscience is re-awakened by a bright-eyed newcomer is no less familiar a trope than, well, the delinquent with untapped potential.

Yet Mr. Love crafts his characters — including another young man who seems to fit that last description, played by a beatific Shakur Tolliver, who eventually gets his hands on those flowers — with such insight, heart, and respect that they transcend clichés. “Hope, Isaiah, can be a very dangerous thing if you let it,” Mr. Cartwright declares early on, but for all the pain and struggle that it documents, hope is precisely what “soft” inspires.