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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 ...

Instinct

All alone in the dark..
While he waited for a spark.
Sweat drops felt itchy..
Scars that oozed blood went numb.
Words didn’t have the urge..
To come out and indulge.
Shout if he may..
That might just increase the delay.
His own touch seems warm..
When even the floor shoots for harm.
The walls remind where he was beaten up..
Standing tall when his guts were eaten up..
Thunder roars outside..
Louder the snores inside.
There is no sense of light whatsoever..
His fight is coming to an end against never.
Now he loves the dark..
While he ..
He knows the door won’t open..
And even if it does..
The world for him will be broken..
Scars on him will never heal..
What people think of him ..
They will never reveal.
Besides his survival instinct..
Is stronger than ever distinct..
When he will save to protect..
Innocence from it’s very own grave.

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