Thank you all for being here today, Amina said in her silky voice, her beautiful face reflecting on the screen.

I'm sure you've all been looking for me. I'm sorry you had to see me this way. I'm sorry this had to be the last image you'll have of me.

You see, I once saw a poem about death. Saying, "don't cry for me, I am not there, I did not die", all that good stuff. Essentially meaning the person's relatives shouldn't mourn him because he'll keep living in their hearts. Well I've got a poem of my own.

Don't cry at my death, if you never cried the moments before.

Don't leave me flowers, for I am no more.

Keep your pretty speeches, I can not hear you,

The well thought out words, they aren't true.

My stormy days were spent alone.

Leading up to my eminent doom.

I wrote my story, and sealed it in grave-dust.

To spit on that would be grossly unjust.

Don't cry for me, you never lived with me.

Don't mourn me, you don't miss me.

My days alive were all you had,

I am buried in stone, I did die.