You came to my life, Drona,
And so started metamorphosis.

You came to my life, Kripi,
And so came the stability.

Oh you brought about the changes sweetly,
I rediscovered a new person in me, Drona.

Just like you have brought tranquility,
I have known what's actual peace, Kripi.

I wish you and only you in my dreams,
Come and save me from myself, Drona.

These nightmares and visions are done plaguing you,
Now let me plant my sweet dreams & thoughts in you, Kripi.

**Together we will scale new peaks and cover new skies oh lover,
This sweet dream we are living is far from getting yet over.

Its been only months since the day i first talked to you,
but this has never been an issue,
indeed,
no matter what i was going through,
you were always here when i needed someone to talk to..

A friend that won't ever ask for anything,
but who deserves everything,
that's what you are,
no matter how far away you are,
you know you can count on me like you've been doing so far,
and like always i'll be here for my little star..

We've shared our happiness,
our sadness,
madness,
but still things we got to tell each other daily is never less,
I guess that that's because you're the best..
..a diamond among the rest..

I won't ever let this flip..
..never let you weep
never let go of our unconditional friendship...

Happy Birthday Bestie,
Kripi Mehra ^^

-Sharvish

Heaven, Where all Poets Go

dedicated soully to Kripi Mehra
who unknowingly commissioned this piece
with her love and feeling for those who
dare to fare on just words, only to
sally
forth unafraid and unashamed
~~~~~~~

to the conclusion cut,
not knowing how we know what we know,
       knowing that of this cut,
this one,
as real as anything worth writing about,
not knowing how but demonstrating a modicum of erudition

yet,  
clarity this time no stranger,
no remonstrating, endless debating, easy
come, and even easier go,
all poets (and lost-to-early children) go to heaven,
even the bad ones

stop with the teasing give us the reasoning

nah nah nah always in a hurry to get to the
bottom, move on, write yet another,
restless young'uns, girls and fellows,
even you old, small ones, who still can't spell
your own name
or rhyme, those slow mo yokels, national symbols,
the ones that seem never to ever catch their star,
the mothers across all oceans, who need childlike tendering,
Indian girl chiefs, boat captain historians, word magi-bus-riding hallway eavesdroppers, **** British girls, nurses, wonderers and after-life lusters,
burnt baby healers

learn that this self seal-selected profession
is an endless deal, profession rhymes with heaven,
you need to luxuriate in the long journey,
pink patience before you raise you glass

but OK, just this once,
the secret you have may have already read!
pass it along, as it was given to me
by one of us, poet laureate far better than I ever could be

Down in the sounding foam of primal things I
     reach my hands and play with pebbles of destiny.
I have been to hell and back many times.
I know all about heaven, for I have talked with God.
I dabble in the blood and guts of the terrible.
I know the passionate seizure of beauty
And the marvelous rebellion of man at all signs
     reading "Keep Off." ^

that is what poets do daily with each ecrive,
each line of metered musique mystique,
and with stanzas lighter than air,
a piece of you breaks off, floats upward,
and when the day is done,
the struggling striving breaking apart,
be now over,
all poets go to heaven to collect themselves,
their entire pieces of writings, called their collected works,
all the pieces reassembled,
you are at last, at last, at rest, whole, satisfied and undenied,
where poets, brave soldiers of all ages deserve to be,
heaven resting