Sylvanna Devlin

From “Game Over”

In the summer of 2003, I was hurrying my way up the News Steps in Edinburgh to a Job interview. The steep and long stairway tended to be quiet, but it was the quickest route from where I lived to C-Venues. And I didn’t mind a bit of clambering.

Somewhere about half-way up, barely sheltered by the hint of an alcove, I was stopped by a young gentleman not far from my age. His hair was dark blond perhaps, Maybe lighter, but dirty. It fell in soft waves to his shoulders.

At least I think so. He emanated a unique yellow-gold that distracts the

memory. He asked if I had spare change and I had none. I apologized and explained I was hoping to find work that afternoon.

He wished me luck and asked that I pray for him, telling me his name. Michael.

I promised I would, and got the job – to start the next day. I went home to a cup of tea and an old handspring palmtop with fold-up keyboard. From my fingertips poured a poem about Michael’s plight, and all those weary from the elements.

I had seen too many lost souls that summer perhaps. I don’t know. When I went back to look for him, he was gone. I moved and no longer needed the stairs. Then I moved again…

I’ve thought about Michael over the years, the poem crossing my path at least once a month every month, sometimes several times a week. So in my own way I still pray for someone I knew for at most five minutes – but left his mark on me.

Writing “Game Over” was very difficult. So as I began, I placed this poem at the back to remind me. Some people can tear you down over years. But some can build you up in the time it takes to boil a kettle.

I married one, and the other is a faded memory. But only one of them will continue to fill me with a sense of love into the next decade. The day I met him is almost an anniversary before the fight to end all fights. In that way, I’ve known Michael longer.

I still hope he’s okay, and pray his life got better; he’s alive and has a comfortable place to live. And that he’s generally happy. Of all the homeless I have stopped to talk to. He shines out among them.

If you’re listening for prayers still, Michael; may you have escaped society’s edges, and survive this century’s turbulence with wealth in your pockets.

—————————————————————————-

I am apart.

It rains and I have no shelter.

So in shadows and arches I hide,

And I am never seen.

Walking past me are the lives of others,

Never knowing where they tread.

I have been witness to all in time,

But none within my reach.

Look at me and see your fear,

Humanity stripped bare.

I am the truth of all,

And I have nothing.

Share with me this body,

And you shall know my journey.

I am educated by all I see,

But none will know my name.

The need for your sweet charity,

Keeps me within your world.

Pennies you think little of,

Are my only ties.

Yet this fragile bond I hold,

Finds me seeking hope.

Like all the others passing,

I seek proof of life.

I am wet.

I am hungry.

I am cold.

And I am filled by this.

Look at me and see a brother,

For I belonged to someone.

Can you really safely say

I am none of your concern?

I am of your flesh and blood,

My fate is yours as well.

The homeless have a face,

And today that face is mine