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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 ...

Dawn

As he lit the match..
She stood right next to him..
Watching him smoke.
All that fire giving up..
While she began to choke.
The look wasn’t to quit..
Lifted her up finding somewhere to sit.
Fainted while her fingers trembled..
Gripping him tighter as he stumbled.
The only way she would live..
Was something beyond him to give.
Laying her on the bed..
Sat thinking through the misread.
Signs that granted..
Signs that wanted..
Talking barely..
Listening rarely..
All she ever did speak..
Made him weak.
Rushing outside..
Fumbled into his pocket..
Lit the match..
As his eyes met a close watch..
The smoke had gone..
In the blink of an eye..
A drop became heavy right at the brink..
He could see the dawn sink.
As it was nothing but her..
He couldn’t stop to think.

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