An old friend said writing it down won't do
He was unclear that writing is my art and my lifelong friend
Every essence,nuance,color  travel is captured in my mind
Then it is crafted and when I feel it works then it becones a poem
So Dear Danny ,who left us long ago
I do write.it down because I am a writer

A slow transition, yet so quick,
from strangers to healers, we went.
You ripped your skin, I saw through,
and it felt a reflection of mine.

Found a soul pleading to feel loved,
searching to feel safe and adored.
Scars bleeding, pain un-ceasing,
you knew to give, not to take.

Saw a heart that deserves love,
so lost and tired to search or ask.
Didn't know just being there,
felt healing and freedom for you.

Kindness is all you asked of me,
love was everything I had in me.
You healed, only to bleed more,
when you had to make a choice.

I've done enough for you
I can't bend any further
you're now on your own
your life you've to take over-


time is relentless
my life I've to look after
before long I'll be old
with illness and fever-

our paths have been crossed
we've shared our each joy and sorrow
we'll say our farewell now
but wish each other well for very morrow

Have I changed or not?
But no situation is the same-
I adapt and improvise
but retain my name-

yet to be sure
I'm not a chameleon
my skin I change not
like all of you I live and move on

My skin trembles with pleasure and pain—pleasure in every tender way you loved me, yet torn by the agony in the way you unraveled me.

You stand
Gathered together,

The lines of your branches,
The ink of your markings
Standing out.

On your grey-white paper
I will fill your book
With beautiful poetry.