Christmas nears, I am gone but Yasmin fills my mind
in old Bombay she sits and writes to aged dames like I.
So far away, all we have is words to bring us near,
so often times I hear a ring, and her voice loud and clear.
I know what she wants from me and it's something I can give
friendship, loyalty and companionship and nothing to forgive.
Now, neither Yasmin, nor my dear Kash are Christians, nor am I,
but still, at this time of year, the gifts of open heart ally.
And, I know of wisdom, of learning and of love, I share,
hoping Kash accepts the gifts, and waylays all his cares.
To Chas, now I have no need to give him worldly things
for he has his wife, his Carolyn, and their loving hearts sing.
Yet, I would give them days and nights a house, and home, needs be
if they had need, if they wanted for a step-daughter.. me.
For my little sis, for my Dee, our mischievous Cyndi,
I give her books with pages blank, for her and Verity.
My gift to her and Verity is the space to bloom to grow
unfettered by conventions, transformation to undergo.
Last, my Vie, to her I'd send a picture of my wrinkled smile
and know she'd sit, stare and think "Perhaps, I'll see her in a while."
She'd ring her chimes, and I'd ring mine, and continents would merge
for friendships such as ours, take patience and pathos to emerge.
Poet: Debbie Guzzi
Happy Holy Days to Yasmin Khan, Poet Kash, Charles Henderson, Cyndi MacMillan, Vienna Bombardieri