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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 Pen That Wrote

The pen that wrote something

about a girl who fell in love

while swinging alone

as she flew to the top

cracking laughter to her bone


The pen that was impolite

as it wrote something 

about a night

as unfortunate fight

just lost the hindsight

of a woman

struggling to sleep right after


The pen that wrote something

about a traveler

that runs into a dark cave

and encounters a monster

that digs deep into her eyes

finding the real meaning 

behind her wandering rave


The pen that broke in anger

when it tried to write 

what it does not

want to

but wants to tell the story that people

should listen to..


The pen that draws a dagger

while it tears apart

the hands that write

a merciless

encounter with a little girl

that goes out of sight

as she mentions 

she has no right

nor can fight

as she wants food for hunger


The pen that saw

a bloody massacre 

as guns were fired

without reason

taking away shelters

scaring away humanity

bitter assassins 

empty civilians 

and a road that never

opened to freedom



*Dedicated to real journalism

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