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An Empty Chair

“An Empty Chair” By  Pratiksha Misra From morning cereal, To an evening affair, What never was around, Was an empty chair.. From an angry state, To a cry for an extra bread to spare, What never was around, Was an empty chair.. From the fresh water fish, To the piping hot biryani, Served in a silver dish, From crying babies, To toddler care, From trying outs, To wedding outfits, What never was around, Was an empty chair.. From laughter roar, To midnight chuckles, From quieter score, To quilted giggles, From a spicy gravy, To sour taffy, From bitter to sweet, There was always dessert in the fridge, And a smiling nudge at the topmost layer, What never was around, Was an empty chair.. Now since you are gone, There is no winner at the dinner, No one asks what you would Like to eat, No one sits and repeats, How a dish tastes, It all ended too soon, How is that fair? That now instead of you, What we have is an empty chair.. *On this occassion of Thanksgiving, what my family craves for is ...

The Broken Shadow




Darker as it can get..

The lonelier it felt.
Deeper as it can penetrate..
Painful was this to reiterate.
Scary are the pathways.. 
Never ending the castaway.
Emerging triumphant..
Despite loosing the quotient. 
Try is the solace..
When love makes the embrace.
Impersonating solitude..
And a dying attitude. 
A voice underneath the screech..
Leaving unkind words as a figure of speech.
What’s visible is unadvisable.. 
But it’s reasons are amicable.
Resistance is power..
Being delinquent is sustainable.
Coward is the mind by design..
Overcoming every passion to resign.
Poignant seems wisdom..
Elegant still freedom.
The pursuit of desire..
Burning souls spit fire.
Smoke furious flaring out as they bow..
While sitting there calmly is the broken shadow.

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