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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 ...

Where Hands Were Held

Taking the road with legs that shook..
Unfolding the turns like..
Scraps of the lost book.
Kept walking when the same look…
Was right there as it took.
When those leaves were rustling free…
While the wind came gushing right at me.
Arms snuggled..
Overpowered as the path struggled.
Tracing it’s way through the brook.
When words got whispered..
Gasping to take a breath..
You can’t bring back death.
Try fitting into it’s length.
Shining over was the sun naked..
Piling under were scars sacred.
The giggles, the riddles those rides just unafraid.
Laughter echoed while it crossed the acres wide spread.
Yet it felt that it no longer did meld…
Just stood by myself..
Where those hands were held.
Where the one who remains…
Constantly wanders to get a glimpse of it..
All over again.

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