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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 ...

Unleashed

A tap on my shoulder..
Memoir from a hidden folder.
Re imagining again..
The infinite bargain.
Still cannot resist..
A prolonged wish list.
How louder can I scream…
In this ground breaking dream.
Words burst like fire…
Hold on this might be a satire.
Should I touch and confirm?
What if it vanishes as soon as I do..
Scintillating with the early morning dew..
Getting colder tonight..
Any kind of light is misdirection..
Time refuses correction.
The section where moon is lit..
Is all but an empty silver slit.
Dew melts on my face..
Soaking all over the remaining space.
Lies glitter like stars..
Unleashed scars.
Troubled as my hands finally reach out to..
Only to find..
The windy breeze did redo..
A similar tap on my shoulder.

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