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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 ...

There Is

A simple way..
Hiding behind..
The woods if you dare.
A false ripple..
Occurring inside..
Every eye that you stare.
A story..
To reveal..
Just ears listening..
As they heal.
A glory..
To steal..
By years of chosen.
Not to go after a broken wheel.
A romance…
At a single glance..
Where they danced..
All night long.
Even without a song.
A pattern..
Of being disheartened.
By the one who meant..
The world.
Laughter.
That always stands out..
When you run after.
Your little trout.
A simplistic.
Yet realistic.
Faces that fade..
Behind a grim shade.
A night..
Without a fight.
Giving out an amazing sight..
Of stars staring back at you..
And words that bred right.

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