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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 ...

Color Me

Color me a rainbow..
Piercing through a tear drop.
Color me a dense shadow..
That gushes into a fearless mob.
Build me a giant castle..
That touches a cloud’s muscle.
Carve me a silver horse..
That runs through the night’s hustle.
Color me the inside of a den..
Where I can hide when..
Sculpture questions into a cultured pen..
Leading the world to reside oblivious to insane.
Trick me into wisdom..
Talk me out of freedom..
Quote someone to fame..
Just save capture from burning into flame.
Color me as an outcaste..
Out in a forest dark and dense..
Where voices fail to reach me..
Outspoken but annoyingly unbroken..
Like the branches rooting out from a once lustrous tree..
Painting the rivers green..
Color me a portrait..
Of the faith unseen.
Spreading out wide in the land of mean.

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