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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 ...

The Painted Flowers

Everyone was quiet...
One was shattered.
No one earns it right.
Faith was scattered.
Words were over-polite..
One had scars.
It started to pour in slight.
Eyes had drops tonight.
White came down..
Flowers for the crown.
Gathered every courage..
To meet the verbiage.
Hearts swelled with each other.
But never got further.
They would rather die..
Than lying to each other.
Though white in color…
They were always painted.
Though pure in valor.
They were portrayed as tainted.
Now the crowd doesn’t fight..
As one has lost her very right.
From her bag wide open..
She showers the painted flowers.
That gets washed off by rain..

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