Is waiting worth it?

Dear Miss yet to come,
Lately I have been into a deep thought of you. Waiting for you has become so difficult these days when all I can think about is being with you. You know I have been patient enough for the days when I was enlightened about what a partner means in one’s life. I came across texts that told me that a partner in your life is the one with whom you can share your joy and Sufferings, your remorse and the things that you can boast of. But I think a partner cannot be just for sharing what you are going through. The very meaning of partner can be derived from the word partner itself. Part-Ner, a part of the puzzle, a part that completes anybody to make them somebody. Forever we have been through situations that warranted an action that was unique to give birth to a reaction that was strange. Something that shook our entire way of thinking, our perspective of looking at things, our reactions. Sometimes we were glad about something that had happened, sometimes we cried. But you know the best thing about experiences, is that everytime it happens  we learn a lesson. We haven’t yet met but there is a connection that i can feel through the eternal ties of something far beautiful than the racing rays of the sunlight, the pierced clouds that cover the sky, Than the bloated pastures of the golden seeds and this connection is the one that keeps on telling me that somewhere you are also going through that something that is strengthening this connection, bit by bit, every single day. You are also experiencing a reaction that is making you feel differently. I just want to tell you I am here experiencing things that you haven’t experienced yet, just waiting for the day when that connection of ours is fully established. There is something I want to tell you beforehand, I am a great listener but a terrible speaker. The will be times when you will have to comprehend my silence and react accordingly. And I am a boring person. The things I do best are to look and observe and think about them in ways anybody rarely thinks. Have you ever seen a falling feather. You are that feather for me. The one single feather that can make me fly, the one feather that tickles my bones only to make feel alive, soft, smooth, transcendent. You know I want to be the wind that carries it to carres it gently on the ground. I just want to be your part and I want you to be mine. I want to hold your hand in the falling rain, carry you in my arms when you get tired, hug you tight when things are not right, listen to your voice everyday, I want you to be the first person I see in the morning and last one when I close my eyes, I want to feel your soft hands over my chest, your breath in my ears, your heartbeat synced with mine. I want to see you sleep, drag you hair behind your ear, bite your lips over something. I want to be the reason you smile, the reason you rise, the reason you glow. There are many things I want to say to you dear Miss yet to come. But you know there are still many things left for you and me to experience and still many more that we have to experience together. 

Until then, I will wait for you. But please dear Miss yet to come don’t keep me waiting for long. I want to do so many things for you that this life feels so short and I don’t believe in reincarnations. But if it was possible to be reincarnated I want to be your partner in every life.
I’ll finish with this last quote.

“A course down the life track, there were people who met me back, who kept standing on the side track, they tried to bring me down, laughed whenever I had a fall, but then there was you standing there everytime, you held my hand, helped me stand, now when I am searching for you, where are you, lost in the Meadows, I need you.”

Waiting for you,
With lots of love,
Kumar Harsh 

A single life….

Encourage thy soul,
The days of the dark,
Be My light,
Forever stay bright,
Help the dread,
Remember the bread,
Churn the butter,
When was it easier,
Caress my head,
The world is still left to win,
Work hard,
Get a mark upon your mast,
Break my bones,
Let it flow haywire,
Turn, twist and make me burn,
Gold is never made in the cold,
Pull me down,
Let me taste the ground,
A single life,
What’s more in hand,
Run fast to the high,
Just a reminder is what all I cry,
A single life,
Put all your might in this single life.

Rainy letter

Dear Miss yet to come,
It was raining today in my backyard. Quickly I took out my car and set out for the lake. Do you remember the last time we were there together. We spent hours talking and then something amazing happened. The rain started to pour. The breeze had freshened with the moist soil and we were just walking, Drenched in this utter delight. I always told you not to tie your hair, because it was soothing to see your hair play with you. I had stopped you from tying your hair, I had never tied you. You were always a free woman, an independent, one that had her own identity. You know the best part of being with you was when you talked and I listened. The way your lips moved, the way your eyes escaped mine, the way you remembered that old story, the way you would sometime look at me. Everything was so perfect, so serene, mesmerizing, destined. Time was something that was ignored when you and me would be together. Just like the sand in the hour glass. It knows it is important, but still it has nowhere to go. I have met many people, been to many places, experienced things that were only described. But that satisfaction that I feel when I am with you is something experienced by a person stranded in a desert looking for water. Water is a source of inspiration for him, his only reason to keep moving, his only destination, His only goal. Nothing in this world is important to him than a soulful of water. You know water is the clearest of all. It cleanses deeply, reaches minutely and touches intensively. You are my Grail of water, my chance at redemption, my breath, the only light. Just as I was about to leave the rain stopped. But you know what they say, rain is the purest form of water. I have taken some of it in my wallet along with the same band you used to tie your hair with.

Waiting for you,

With lots of love,
Kumar Harsh 


Tiny drops of the moist hop,
Fall with the wind in a misty crop,
Juggle, muggle and struggle with the dirt,
An identity gone, mixed in the dirt,
They moist the tiniest of the notions,
Sometimes even initiate motions,
Drenched in the rain I was wondering,
Is it me or the heart that is mistering,
Everyday we wake upto crawl,
Ever night we sleep into a brawl,
There is a hope that keeps us strong,
Tomorrow is a new day, Push through the throng,
The drops run with the wind,
Freshen every core till the hind,
They create fragrance far too brown,
An imagination grown of a distant crown,
We fail to notice the small in life,
The drops being the smallest prife,
And tend to run after the big,
Small and small become so big,
They stream into a river,
Fall down the gorge,
Become a sea farer,
They lose,
They gain,
In the end it all becomes the same,
Struggling with the pace of my life,
I realised this in a tone so rife,
Juggle, muggle and struggle with the dirt,
An identity gone, mixed in the dirt.

A Story..

This is a story of a man with no glory,
Sitting on the bank he was all hoary,
Nowhere seemed to be his only destination,
His mind took him on a trip far too animation,
Born in a family with many stories,
He was the one who lacked his own fairies,
Everyday he would wake upto a mission,
Survive, live, prove was his only remission,
His presence was never acknowledged,
Still he drove in his shoes far from being hedged,
He would work day and night,
Thought there was a star beyond the night,
He would let the stomach rumble,
Forget that there is something called hunger,
Success never seemed any close,
Yet he never distanced from his Foes,
I will work till I die,
I will work till I cannot try,
And a day came in his time,
He died on a day in our time,
He lost himself over the notion of success,
See that man sitting on the bank,
He was a struggler once,
Said a moving stranger to me once,
Now he is a person we all remember,
From the time we can remember,
He has changed the definition of success,
Made us proud,
Made our city a memorial,
Why is he all alone then,
Sitting on the bank with nothing but an old den,
Oh, you see he is the man who left everything for success,
Broke down company with all his peeps,
And today he is sitting on the creek,
Thinking about the days that passed away,
I see a gloom in his eyes,
Success was his but he was all alone,
The man on the bank took a deep breath,
Stood up, put on his white sheath,
The man had won I told myself,
Had achieved Heights immeasurable,
But now he needed something more,
Alas, everything is not sold in the shops no more.

The Clothes that Don’t Fit…

Cruising, mixing and then picking,I was at the end all reminiscing,

The days that passed Were an old story,

I was at the end confused in the mystery,

We held hands, took the world in our stride,

Those were the days when happiness came in a small slide,

We jumped in an oblivion of the height,

We ran in an moment full of great might,

Nothing could tear us apart,

But the cream tasted a class apart,

The rain brought us waters of joy,

We would dance never pretended to be a coy,

Clothes covered the skin,

The colour of the clothe was the only thing that distinguished,

I am a doctor,

I am a cook,

I will save the world with my all new hook,

A stage was all that was needed,

An audience was sought never indeed,

We danced to free our hearts,

We laughed to see the falling drop,

Simple was beautiful,

Small so blissful,

The clothes that lie in my almirah,

Are now laughing at me,

See how you have grown,

Remember this spot,

You got on a day too hot,

We are always here,

They said in a tone so familiar,

Cruising, mixing and then picking,

I was at the end all reminiscing.