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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 ...

Drunk

Smelling like..
The skunk.
Am I drunk?
Lived like..
The punk..
Slept while..
Stars sunk.
Kisses..
Through the clunk.
A smelly dried flower..
Underneath the trunk.
Too old…
To flunk.
Trembling lips..
To a hazy smoke..
Layering up to choke.
While a window..
Peeps through the key hole.
Go home…
Don’t be late..
For the roads don’t wait..
For hardships to accolade.
Kindness has sunk.
Songs haphazardly..
Sung..
Musical bizarre..
One’s not a monk.
Stop pretending..
In the graveyard..
Of rusted junk.

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