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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 ...

Tis Nothing

Nothing perhaps is wrong..
Nothing perhaps gets exceedingly long.
Nothing perhaps can be so strong..
That it cannot see how vehemently..
It gave in to the one who didn’t ever belong.
Nothing perhaps is left out..
Nothing perhaps is misfortune..
Nothing perhaps can seep in free of doubt.
That it finally seems to be peeling off..
Like the dried out skin..
Gorging out like the blatant drum roll over tin.
Nothing perhaps was there..
Nothing perhaps will spare..
Nothing perhaps will even lend a stare..
Nothing perhaps that one last word..
That has pulled back from getting overboard.
Realizing being allured is not freedom.

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