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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 ...

Broken Pieces

Broken pieces scattered all over..
As I start collecting some pierce through.
A red drop trickles..
As my skin chuckles.
But tears take precedence.
Not even once those pieces lie,
Everywhere they sit and cry.
Melancholy should be self explanatory.
I pick them up as they prick..
To indefinite souls they stick.
Weak as they have fallen,
Spoilt yet defensive.
Wet but not mourning,
Looking at each other..
They start holding up one another.
Stagger yet sober,
Shadows gather,
But couldn’t walk any further.
Sit through the night..
Untimely awoken.

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