"WHO DECIDES HEAVEN?" By Aastha Mishra BSc. ZCFS , II year
We arrive in tears we didn’t earn,
tiny lungs, borrowed hope,
soft hands holding us like we already mattered.
A father’s heaven might be his children laughing,
warm bread, tired evenings, a world gentle again.
A brother’s heaven could be promising his sister
she won’t break alone,
and a grandfather’s heaven might simply be
one more day to see the people he raised breathing.
So who decides heaven?
A priest with practiced comfort?
A poet who never held death in their palms?
Or the quiet wishes born in ordinary rooms,
never holy, but painfully real?
Then we go.
No warning, no curtain call,
just an empty chair, a toothbrush untouched,
and a door that stays unlocked,
as if hope refuses to learn the truth.
They say, “Heaven gained an angel.”
But if heaven takes one soul to ease its loneliness,
and leaves another soul gasping on the bedroom floor,
is that paradise, or cruelty dressed in wings?
Maybe heaven is earned peace for the one who goes,
and hell is carved into the chest
of the one left behind.
Because what is heaven to the gone
is abandonment to the grieving.
Maybe the truth is darker than comfort can bear:
heaven isn’t a promise above,
it’s a memory below,
and hell is simply living in the space
where they used to stand.
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