what if heaven exists and it is by Harnidh Kaur

what if heaven exists and it is

just a place where memory is

where the smell of home is exactly
how you remember it, without the
decay of age creeping through

where the colour of your mother’s
hair is still that of a wet sheet of
silk soaked in ink that wrote you

where your father’s bones are yet
to bend into question marks that
punctuate his once-certain words

where your sister’s dreams, strung
through the burning bougainvillaea,
have not strewn themselves crudely

where the sun streaming through the
petals is as pink as you remember it,
not the fading, squalid yellow it seemed

what if heaven exists and it is

locked away in your




Harnidh Kaur is a student from Mumbai, India. She writes on occasion.

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