खुमार……

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Where are you?

Dear Miss yet to come,

How are you? It’s been a long time since I wrote to you. Seasons have changed, the birds have flown from their nests, the old dilapidated house at the corner, remember? That couldn’t stand longer. It fell down. Everything’s been fine with me lately and I hope with you too. But we are too humans and as humans and the perfect law of nature, we change.

I don’t know why there is this feeling inside me that’s not letting me do anything. Usually it doesn’t make its presence felt. But when it does, I find sadness in almost anything. And you know how I rarely get sad, a little too emotional yes but rarely sad. Even the guitar lying next to me doesn’t inspire me to play it and get over it, the writing pad too, just growls at me with this I don’t know, a face that just doesn’t seem friendly. I sometimes wonder what it would feel like to share with you all this in person when you are lying along me in the open sky and wondering why the stars fall, who holds the moon up in the sky, why does a doughnut have a hole, or maybe why our hearts beat so slow when we are together. Remember the day, when you were sad about something that you didn’t remember. It’s something like that. The funny thing about it is that, how much I try to avoid it, it just comes bouncing back. The only thing sometimes I need is a your touch and not just physical, the intimacy we shared, mind, space and later the body that really was just another tune that we together create. I don’t know what’s difficult. Waiting for you or this thought that there is somewhere you as well, maybe waiting for me. Or have you found someone too good……

I wish you have that palm for me so that I may fill it with sometimes my hand, the flowers that your body absorbs so spectacularly or maybe sometimes this universe, our universe, our little world….

Waiting for you….

With lots of love.

Kumar Harsh

The beach……

What happens when two broken souls come together?
She had asked him while they walked along the beach.
I don’t know. He said.
Maybe that’s why the sea touches its shores,
Only to bring back messages unread,
In bottles left to float,
Sometimes shells sealed with tears of the sea,
Nothing ever stays in its belly,
Nothing is ever broken,
They all fit someplace,
He had said.