When I returned –

a baby in my arms,

striated, tired body

and a bruised soul –

you brought me

a red make-up box.

When I was alone,

scarred and scared-

You sat beside me

and showed me

fortitude and strength.

Your persistent industry

was to make me beautiful,


When nothing else worked,

You simply came

and stood by my side.

And God! Did that work?

So when you gave me

this white and gold book

to pen my thoughts

because…..I write;

I knew you had noticed

my poetry

was all over the place –

In the margins of notebooks,

boarding passes, mobiles

and discarded paper stubs.

But I have a better use

for that diary of yours –

I will use it

to chronicle my life.