“Graffiti on the Temple of Dendur,” a poem

Graffiti on the Temple of Dendur

The silent carved figures

face each other with offering hands,

oblivious of us

as we now study them like specimens.

To stand so near to stones

with eyes that have seen millenia,

their color long scattered,

blown by the the sharp desert wind,

is itself a form of worship,

a votive of attention.

In the temple raised block by block,

the Queen of Stars still watches

with beams of light suffusing

the darkest recesses of sacred spaces.

Chiseled prayers tempt

the great sun to cast shadows

more easily seen by tired eyes.

And there, nestled among the deities,

we see names from our own age

gouged into eternity.

We crave so badly to make our mark

in life, to scrape our name in rock,

the imprint of our life to be touched

by those who will have never beheld our face,

etched not by wind or water

but by a desire, a yearning

to know, to be known.

Stuart Higginbotham