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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 ...

Stripes

Stripes on my skin..
With a lustrous coat..
Like the sunset..
Groping breath behind bushes.
Flattering doesn’t behold me..
Cunning doesn’t uphold me.
Hunger has an unending thirst..
Wild has an unraveling outburst.
Snarling my roar..
Deafening galore.
Claws refuse but dig further..
As I start loving man slaughter.
Where do I sleep..
It gets worse if we weep.
Old bruises hard to heal..
A monster lurking under the veil.
The wind grows cold..
Last night it was he..
Tonight it could be me.
Hidden beyond sacred tunnel..
Is the wrath controlling.
Beaten helpless into pieces..
Until the screech echoes..
Now just ignores vows..
Made to save mankind.
*Dedicated to the man slaughter rising in Pandharkawada.

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