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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 ...

No Words

Clouded poise..
Indifferent Turbulent.
Unpleasant noise..
Lurking violent.
Open arm..
Shining faith.
Broken wrath..
Pining stale.
The smell of innocence..
Seeking intuition.
Shut down eyes..
To avoid weeping.
Scroll through the scar..
One last sweeping.
The pain left ajar..
Invisible by far.
Still strong grip..
Avoid hand slip.
Eyes signalling the mind..
Scattered to keep together as designed.
Gladly no words..
Later you won’t find.

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