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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 ...

Silent

She became silent..
Words had faded.
With a syllable or two..
Silence had invaded.
Tears came few..
But if only she had knew.
Quietly she walked..
Hoping to be stalked.
Noisy heart beats..
Running clueless into streets.
As she heard a murmur..
From a distant traveler.
Their hands touching the same air..
Not overdoing their glare.
A smile did stare..
As wounds got repair.
The clouds floated by..
While days made them sigh.
She sat down among..
Having her bread as they sung.
Not a word they heard..
Not a word she said.
But beneath the stars..
Where her memories played.
She swayed and..
Slept like the maid.
In her new found shed.

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