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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 ...

It's Just Me

It’s just me..
That I can see.
Holding my hand.
Standing impatiently..
Dragging my feet outside the door.
It’s just me..
That I can hear.
Sliding my gear..
Gauging vehemently..
Though dodging down the fear.
As I speed up the steer.
It’s just me..
That I need to face.
Stitching where holes..
Appeared through countless memoir.
Deep down yet traceable..
Are those noises unstoppable.
It’s just me..
That reflects power.
Tilting to the other side of the ladder..
Jumping to start the reverse way..
To go farther than yesterday.
Walking along side..
Running on roads wide..
Where vague defines every murmuring sound.
As those feet never again learn to touch the ground.

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