There is a last stop in all of us
A place our soul consents to rest
Few were the moonlit nights
That I’ve truly cared for after all
In the alphabet of stars
Time carried me until I was
Completely different
And with a fatigue of thought
I settled on dying a white death
After people were forgotten
There were still my dreams
Dreams I had held on to in spite
Of difficulties, tempests, dishonour
But memory is just a day
When somebody we cared for
Is replaced by somebody else or
The fleeting thing of hours
The turbulent street where everything blurs.
Wuji Seshat 