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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 ...

Equal

Standing at the alter..
Kissing happily ever after.
And all she could see..
Was a ritual.
Jumping into the water..
Depths of laughter.
And all she could feel..
Was totter.
Looking at each other..
While she seeks smother.
Dirt that bothers..
But all that’s farther.
Are the questions asked rather.
Her skin is fair..
His skin is darker.
Marking boundaries thats unfair..
What about wanderer.
Wings to slaughter..
But her urge goes for wings that flutter.
A fire ignites..
Fuming smokes touching sky..
Like kites flying by.
But she sees countless fights..
For equal rights.
Where someone is still burning..
All through the night.

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