Memories flash for the person leaving the room on the East Wing
Clutching the ends of the last string connecting A to B
Of spaces and stories, of friends, lovers, and miseries
Looking for the perfect rhyme, opening the door to a great line
Praying for the light to come and stop the flight
Of feelings, pains, and all the lightness of being
‘Coz the trip home is the last stop for the best poem
That captures the heart, the essence, the dreams sighed out
Of the missed role of the poet, dying, lying, moving the last roll
That intertwines the paths of the living and the ones leaving
Yakapin 