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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 ...

Stroll

Take me to the broken mountain..
where the split welcomes the sun shine.
Take me through the dainty path..
where I can twirl into a sacred line.

Take me to the faded tree..
where sprung open can be a lively spree.
Take me through the deserted forest..
where a flickering night lamp will be out shining the rest.

Take me towards a crowd unknown..
Take me towards a strangely odd stone.
Take me as I give up to walk..
Take me as I dive deep to stalk.
Take me to the aligned bushes..
Take me to the stream lined ashes.

Take me to a blooming arc..
Where scattered all over is a luminous park.
Take me to a sinking cave..
Where darkness urges the instinct rave.


The echo in silence..
The calmness in resilience..
The tempo in the steps..
The touch of the fingers.
Thoughts gliding safe and sound..
While I take a stroll..
Thinking you are around.
Always holding me to the ground.


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