Works by Harsh Kumar
A section showcasing the stories I weaved in my head. Any resemblance to an actual person living or dead is purely co-incidental (or is it?).
She had a comely figure which was stem-thin. Her waist was tapered and a pair of arched eyebrows looking down on sweeping eyelashes glared on a book. A set of dazzling, angel-white teeth gleamed as she blew gently on her carmine-red fingernails
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There were times when we went out for a coffee in the break and I struggled with words. Believe me, I have struggled with the same words for years.
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Wandering through the library door was pretty normal for me
But that day, that day was just one of my best memories anyone could see
I saw you standing with a bunch of books solely in a corner
Our eyes met.
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With blood dripping from his mouth, falling on his feet his last words were
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A little pain and then just utter darkness
Dark enough to befool someone that they are still sleeping with their eyes closed
It’s not like the colour we have is some sort of weapon, that you are scared of us. Stop pretending that you respect blacks and using #blackpeople & #blacklove when black is the colour you only prefer on your dresses.
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Hello, this is me, yes your beloved old friend or should I say, lover. I think it’s been over a year since we have met, but I must not lie that there was not even a single day when I didn’t miss you. People separated us wide apart, saying that I was addicted to your charm and you were a bad habit which could destroy me.
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What if I told you this life is just a lie
Everything you see is an illusion of your eye
