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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 ...

Listen To

The little ones..
The quieter ones..
The lonely ones..
And the not so chirpy ones.
Listen..
When interrupted by atrocity..
When knocked out by flaw..
When trapped in the enactment..
Of disparity of law.
Listen..
While eyes talk..
And the winds walk up to you.
While silence whispers through.
Listen to the ask..
To that undefining task.
The laughter the merriment..
The cry after the embellishment.
Listen to the chatter..
Listen to the right chapter.
Listen to stories..
Paying heed to those faded glories.
To the intense grasp..
To the instant wrath..
To the never changing decision..
To the life saving incision.
For speaking louder can never calm the waves..
While listening echoes through the wildest of the caves.

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