Is full. Thirst after it has
Been quenched.
Where do clouds go when
They can't pour down?
Where do the poems that
Couldn't make it to paper
Find their abode?
These unsent love-letters
In the closet,
Slowly turning sour.
Where did the unheard
Songs go? and the
Un-answered prayers?
And the innocent kids that
Die after the bombing?
Do they ever hail heavy
On the gates of heaven?
Or they're sent to hell?
For not being capitalised
In a religious reckoning.