Blessing, you and I
Carry memories of the graffiti
On Christina Street,
You and I still carry dreams
Of the day when time stood still
As we marvelled at the walls
And thought of the political graffiti
Back home;
Of politicians locked in battle
Of youths still struggling
With identity- and vote-buying;
Of men and women who 
Crossed borders
Never to return . . .
But we held onto that dream, Blessing
Of the colourful graffiti
Of new and old arrivants in Cardiff
Chronicling their history on the wall . . .
Of years spent slaving
Somewhere by the seaside
Of pale, grim faces,
Brought to life by paint.
Christina Street does not ring
With children’s laughter;
Its quiet strength is in the story
Told through pictures on wall
In cold grey 
emptiness;
We watched in awe as pigeons
Paid homage to unknown sojourners
On street walls
As we huddled in our coats . . . to take these memories with us.
They would haunt us
Long after we left . . .