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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 ...

Separation

A hole in her frock..
What if people mock.
She refused to become the laughing stock.
Coming from a hole..
Dark like the charcoal.
Where spirits had burnt..
Squeamished but she learnt.
An unknown path..
She kept walking towards.
As no one is going to follow..
Looking out for her sorrow.
Whatever she sees..
Will let her be.
And whatever she does..
Has to eventually agree.
As hands get annoying..
Faces start lying.
She looks around to find..
The ones who were there..
Are not even trying.
Is she allowed to be scared ?
Stuffs until she is layered.
Sometimes she outruns..
Sometimes she gets caught.
Sometimes she hides behind walls that run paper thin.
Noises reaching out to her..
Unavoidably failing to stir..
As loss makes the murmur.
Longing for the road..
Which is back in.
What if she decides ..
And gets trapped in.
With no one but the windows..
Starting at her.
While she wonders..
Is someone out there still looking ?

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