Street Poetry
I was searching for nothing, until the streets started speaking
My trip to the UK last November was not as I expected. I was waiting for a proper vacation for a long time. After many months of emotional pressure, the vacation was my only escape. I wanted to spend some time away from everything around me, everything. I did not have a proper plan as I used to do when I travel, but I had some places I wanted to visit, some of them I had visited before, but many of them were on my to-do list. But the whole vibe was to spend some time wandering with no destination in mind, just exploring, getting lost in a busy city, feeling the street vibes, searching for a message, but I was not expecting the message would be literally a message, or a series of messages.
It was my 2nd day in London, leaving Covent Garden. I preferred to walk to my hotel. The sun had just set, yet it was still early in the day, it was around 4:30 pm. The weather was a bit colder than I expected. The streets were getting busier, people were starting to leave offices, tourists rushing from place to place, and here I was, wandering. I looked at my mobile phone just to get a sense of direction and how far I was from my hotel, and trying to find an interesting place to visit before heading to my destination. So I decided to visit “The Photographer’s Gallery,” as I had started to take photography seriously (more on this in my upcoming blog series). I was trying to find my way in this busy city, walking slowly. I stopped to look at my mobile to ensure I was following the correct direction, as you can get lost easily in London. Once I stopped, I noticed something that changed the entire vibe of this whole trip.
Once I put my mobile phone in my pocket, to ensure it would not be snatched by phone snatchers in London, I noticed writing on the pavement. Something looked strange, yet interesting. It looked like whiteboard writing with chalk, but on the street.
“Faces of loved ones stained in our memories like old rain on a window.” With an Instagram handle: @losinglxve
I read it again, and again. I felt every single word. It was like a hidden message sent to me. People were passing, some of them stepping on it, but I was the only one who noticed it, stopped and read it. I snapped a picture of it, walked a few steps, then came back and read it again.
What was that? And how was this message describing something I felt deep in my heart? I thought this was a one-off incident, so I decided to keep moving to my destination, but these words were engraved in my head. I was repeating them silently as I walked, slower than usual.
“Faces of loved ones stained in our memories like old rain on a window.”
Who wrote it? And why did he choose to write it on the street? And what was with that Instagram handle? Were there more of these messages? Where could I find them? And how strong and relevant to me was this message?
After having dinner at the hotel, I decided to go out for a small walk, practicing night photography. It was a nice walk. I decided to go to a quiet residential area, away from the busy and noisy streets. The weather started to get colder, and a few raindrops gave the soft-lit and leaf-covered streets a painting-like look. As it started to get colder and the rain became stronger, I decided to walk back to the hotel as I was not carrying my umbrella.
The message I read was still buzzing in my head:
“Faces of loved ones stained in our memories like old rain on a window.”
Okay, once I got back to the hotel, I would check that Instagram account. As I was approaching 20k steps, I entered a pedestrian tunnel to cross the highway. As I was walking inside the tunnel, I was thinking about why this tunnel looked dull, the walls covered with white mosaic tiles, and some areas repainted in another shade of white, maybe to cover graffiti. I kept thinking, why does this tunnel look so dull? Why not decorate it with art, or maybe multicolor mosaic tiles, just to give it a nicer look?
And as I was having these thoughts, I noticed something written on the wall. It was bright pink, barely readable.
“My mind is the last place I wanna be.” @losinglxve
It couldn’t be. Another message. Same person. Same day. And again, it described what was happening in my mind. It felt more like a reality slap. I was traveling far away to escape my pressure, my thoughts, my memories,and yet, I was carrying them like luggage inside my own mind.
I stopped there for a couple of minutes, just staring at this message. Again, I snapped a picture and moved on. Now I had too many things processing in my mind.
The first thing I did was check the Instagram account. This person writes these messages in different areas in London, and people who see them tag him. So I did the same. I uploaded these two messages to my Instagram story, tagged him, and thanked him for these hidden yet strong messages.
As I wandered the streets of London, I began to notice the city quietly guiding me. Some messages hit deep, some subtle, and in the next post, I will share the ones that showed me the way back to myself.
Check the full photos of street poetry in this Instagram post.
