Posted in Originals, Poetry, Reflections, Travel Stories


​There were a score of walls on the lane

But only this one returned as a memory

There must have been a hand and a spray can

Tracing a practiced silhouette on the wall

Saying the open secret 

The valley’s secret

Of stoned realisations and also

Of smoked and charred years and youths

The mischief was managed

Because morals were reflected

Sometimes mocked at

Sometimes pointed at

Cover image by thestonedstoryteller 

Follow me on Instagram! Username: thestonedstoryteller

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