He added his name to the wall.

To the back drop of a city that didn’t want him.

To back-beat, railway rhythms.

he offered his name.

Among the many, painted bearings of young hearts,

young poets, artists and old soul’s calligraphy pens,

leaving their marks.

Laying his contribution,

his only possession,

the best of him, against stone so that it would finally feel solid.


Held up, side by side with those larger than life buildings

with their skyscraping signatures.

His name with the likes of them.

Held higher than the streets would have him believe he was worthy.

His name, painted reckless across heights, waiting for someone to see,

hoping that someone would notice.

His name.


26 thoughts on “Graffiti

  1. “Solid, supported, held up – his only possession, hoping that someone would notice…” Ahhh, Devan – you fill my heart with your words. There is a wisdom inside you that belies (what appears to be, from your photo) your chronological age. It’s almost like Mary Oliver and David Whyte got mixed in a blender, with a little Rumi and Gibran thrown in, and out came Devan, shining even more brightly in her own skin than any of the others were on their own. I mean that in only the kindest, most complimentary way. Blessings; I wait for your book of poetry.

  2. This means the world to me, Theresa! You are so kind and have blessed me with such a compliment. I am so grateful to you. Thank you so much! 🙂

  3. I was trying to think of something more meaningful to say, but your poem is so well written that it speaks very well for itself, and sings loudly about the lady who wrote it 🙂

  4. Wow. Thank you again! Although, “thanks” doesn’t feel like enough when you have been so generous! 🙂 I really do appreciate your support my friend. 🙂

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