I cannot write…

I write not because I love you,
Love had changed forms,
The day my eyes fixated on you,

I write not because your eyes give me peace,
For peace was lost,
The kohl in your eyes speaks volumes,

I write not because your voice races my heart,
Music, symphony and notes,
Blood in my veins turns to the hue of your skin,

I write not because your breath gives me hope,
The sun over my sky turns golden,
The warmth of your breath in my ears,

I write not because I care,
I am a shadow among the earthlings,
Bringing you flowers is my biggest joy,

So why do I write,
When you become blurry by the day,
Am I losing consciousness?

The distance of the stars,
The Milky Way and the Andromeda,
Witness this disgrace,

As I try to dissolve into oblivion,
The words fall off my chest,
Onto this bleeding piece of parchment,

For one last time,
Or maybe more……


Dear Miss Yet To Come,

My apologies, if you would accept, for the delay in between my last letter and this letter that I am writing for you now. I have been really busy. But that cannot be an excuse for the delay in this letter. So, let me paint you a picture of what might be us whenever we meet.
I have been working really hard lately to make myself better, more mature for you, more than ever. Learning new things, new skills that might sway you off your feet. I don’t know if you have read my letters, but this one thing I am really proud of. I can make you see things that escape your eyes. The little tip of your nose that wiggles whenever you are too excited for a food that you really love, the sweet fragrance of your perfume that fills me with the feelings of summer, the silhouette you make on the bed everyday when you wake up. Moreover, I have been learning how to cook, so maybe we could share our time in the kitchen as well. Giggling and laughing just like teenagers. Age is just a number. We’ll make time for our little eccentricities everytime we think we are getting too real for the world. Sing aloud, dance un synchronously or even watch a romantic movie and cry endlessly. The bond between us would be real and that would be my foci, my epicentre, my constant, maybe yours too. The world changes by the second, but the real stays forever. I promise to hold you everytime you feel that love in the world is not enough for you, maybe you would do the same for me. I like to be pampered as well. I won’t ask from you. But then you know me. Or in time you will. I promise to love you when it’s the most difficult, when you think you are unlovable, put you in my arms and sing a song, just for you. I know you’ll do the same for me. You know how much i adore your voice. Its like a music box for me. The box opens and a symphony comes out of it. Every time. I know you laugh at my this analogy. But a feeling stays true even when the mind cannot comprehend it. Lately, it was really difficult to still define what love actually is. I took my time though, made myself involved in things that had made me believe in love in the first place. Trials and tribulations are a part of life. I told myself. So, I got back to my own little eccentricities. And just like that, everything seemed organic, easy. Because in life, sometimes we need a little break from things which drive us away from life. I have been trying to be in constant touch with my friends. They have been the strongest pillar of support along with my family, I am too excited you to meet. This letter was long overdue. The current situations demand we get back to our roots.

Everything is good here. I am good too. Better than before and still in the process of growing out of my cocoon. In a way we all do.

Hope you are doing excellent too. How’s everyone at home? Take care and try to stay indoors because we are fighting with an enemy which can disguise itself in any form.

Till then I’ll be waiting for you.

Don’t be late.

Hope to meet you soon.

With lots of love
Kumar Harsh

Social Story….

The night had just started. Hi, a notification popped in her phone. Often it was her phone that would wake her from her sleep. Sleep that would elude her when she desired. The message seemed familiar, the ones she was usually frequented with, lurking behind the shadows of promiscuity and lust, she was aware of the pattern. Her hopes had died the day a message that turned into a wild drug, an addiction that usually pervades those in distress. Maybe I should ignore, she said to herself. But there was this deep curiosity inside her that took over her hands. She typed hello and with the cold response she was used to giving to people of all sorts, her reply ended. I was wondering if you could give me a suggestion on the ways to write a book. This time it felt genuine. But she did abstain from replying too soon. Maybe the years of neglect and being taken for granted had taught her, maybe it was something else. She tried to absolve herself in her daily chores, but the thought stick in her head. Just like song that you don’t know the lyrics of. You can have a look at these articles, she typed sharing along some that had helped her too. She was lost in the thoughts when she had begun her journey of penning down her thoughts. The adrenaline rush of a beautiful poem, the serenity of the mind, the calmness of the sea. It all hit her at once. The food in her stomach began to boil, an uneasiness crippled her body. Thank you. Her phone chimed again. It was him. I was really worried about how to begin. I’ll trouble you again. I hope that’s okay. The message read. Sure. She had typed. The night had started to cool down as the dark descended into oblivion. An emoji came from him. She saw the emoji. The one maybe she hadn’t seen before. She put the phone down, trying to concentrate on her work that had been keeping her sane for sometime now. For long she had been subjected to flattery as the world around her put her on a pedestal. The world, this slowly degenerating collection of thoughts and processes that had claimed her to be a little too open for their own amusement. A woman can do whatever she wants unless she stays in the mould that has been created for her since centuries. She must be timid, bashful, easily manipulated. Being born, married, birthing and then death. This was her life cycle. Appreciation was distant to her, acknowledgment unknown. Her thoughts had changed in her early years. Her best friends were her books. They would talk to her, help her sleep without the intent of nothing but to appreciate her. Not just the beauty of her face, the body which she possessed but the mind that had nurtured into an organic system of brilliant ideas. Since long, she had preferred
the veil of her screens than the merciless scorching eyes of the world. Done with her work, she lay down on her bed to sleep. But sleep had betrayed her even before the betrayal of many other kinds. The heart had stopped beating irregularly. Just the rhythmic cycle of her heart was that that kept her moving. Emotions had become a sour patch, nicotine that would mess with her mind. Be logical, she had told herself every time a situation came that would need her decision. This time wasn’t any different. She closed her eyes again and tried to sleep, listening to the melodies ancient. The dark had engulfed the night completely and maybe her too. The night had just begun…..


The snow had just started falling,
Drenching the tall Fig trees,
The squirrels had unknowingly planted,
The olive floor of the mountains had turned white,
Burying deep secrets of you and me,
The ones that kept our hearts running,
The red apples that grew in that Orchard,
Where we had first met,
Our first kiss that started it all,
The cherry that had blossomed,
But snow subsumes everything,
The heat, the sun, the light,
And as i lose your tracks in the snow,
The only thing that keeps me sane,
The songs that we had sung together…..

Sun She Is….

As he burned in her desire,
His skin donned her smell,
His breath the rhythm of her heart,
They say love falls from the sky,
And hits the earthlings,
Usually when they are unaware,
Engrossed in the duties of time,
Does it really happen?
Had someone asked,
Maybe, Maybe not,
He had said,
My world becomes her,
The sun to my farms,
The rains to my meadows,
The winds to my wings,
The dreams to my reality,
Maybe it happens,
Who am I to say,
Maybe I am a moon to the Sun she is……

What can a woman do to you…

Gushing down the mountains,
A shiver engulfs the valley,
The leaves, the petals and those pulsating hearts,
Adorn a cloak of lifelessness,
Intoxicated in the symphony of water hitting the stones,
Open their eyes to a simmering sun,
And dance in its glory,
Trying to absorb a lumen of greatness,
Such is the power that stays with the strong,
The aura, the spirit, the ambiance that She radiates,
Beware as you step closer,
Closer to the power the men cannot steer,
Gentle, Ferocious and yet so calm,
She can be your end and your beginning,
Your death or life anew,
Bring you pain or joy unlimited,
Her touch could confuse you,
Or Be your greatest muse,
The mortals see her form,
The minds their energy,
I, I am a simple man,
She will be my chaos,
My silver lining in the darkest clouds,
The Sun that wakes me up,
And the Moon that cuddles with me in the night,
A Woman can do that you,
Enslave you, Give you wings,
Or can hold your hands,
In the quick sand,
Take you on a journey,
Truly divine,
She is a woman,
And can do things,
Fate could never do…….


बड़ी मुद्दतों के बाद निकला है आज,
छुपा बैठा था सीने में कहीं,
एक राज़ जो ज़ाहिर-ए-जहाँ है,
सुलग सुलग के इसने ना जाने कितनी हस्तियाँ निस्टेनाबूत की होंगी,
और एक मैं हूँ जो शायर बन बैठा……