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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 ...

Sunflowers

Did bloom.
Right outside the window.
Of a room.
That was hidden...
Left empty and gloom.
Yellowish floral.
Like shiny coral.
Tricky when they danced.
Leaving behind a shadow...
Reflecting in the room.
That somehow.
Looked lost in some heirloom.
Childish flatter.
Collided flutter.
Seldom did utter.
Yet standing polite.
When darkness did follow.
Cautiously inside this room.
That knocked sanctity to its doom.
Right in front were those eyes.
That was caught up with too soon.
Unusually bright were the flowers that noon.
Only to be blamed later on.
For someone gone.
As steps were heard.
Retreating from the room.
That today stands empty and gloom..
And for the very reason refuses to bloom.

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