Urban Writing

An epitaph spoilt by an oxymoron; the journey of a twisted smile within a plastic face; a testimony of color sprayed in the subway, overgrown and wanting- city bound. My home base. Sanctioned by the night, steal from the darkness and luminous pathways within sweet, blinding light. Steal to the streets and recapture the home grounds. City spaces, i’m home bound. Where I long for a tomorrow but I can’t get through today. As the law enforces that we can’t spray on the walls, there bares our mark, from our covert, civic creed that hunts for open spaces to leave our memories in the dark. My people, my creed enchant the common faces with perilous and heroic statements. Counter action; we place these in all places. Testament to the memory that we will gaze at through our dreams, our people share the vision with all but only from conservative screams. Misunderstood so must be fearful. Washed away from the public but the images will be tagged forever, dragged down into the pits of our creation. Relived by spraying amongst the open spaces that alter from the changing tides of our mind. Glory to the architects whom compose the scriptures that will be sprayed away in due time. But will be avenged from the darkness as the city walls are a canvas of the reflections of our mind.