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Your expressions can **** Before one can even utter the words "Avada Kedavra" !! Your eyes sparkle with an intensity That can melt even boulders Your smile is filled with a dazzling light Which is so bright That it can even turn Hell into Heaven As we are often told "Laughter is the best medicine" Well, your laugh is so divine That it can even bring people back from the dead Your sense of fashion is an art in itself And can even put London and Paris in the shade Most of all, you gave up a career in medicine In order to pursue your dreams With a courage that would have made Godric Gryffindor proud I can't wait to watch you on the big screen Because there is absolutely no one Who can do justice to the character of Poonguzhali With such a silken grace As I am sure you will
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Apr 29, 2023
Apr 29, 2023 at 2:51 PM UTC
Poem Dedicated To Aishwarya Lekshmi
No warning. No bell being rung. Just the start of the round rushing past. All I heard was the sound of footsteps rushing across concrete, the noise in my head reminding me I was never ready for what’s to come. Round start. They never wait patiently in line, quick to bombard me all at once. Regret swings first, fast and reckless. I duck just in time, only for doubt to catch me in the gut, waiting for its turn to strike. Over the years, I’ve learned this place like the back of my hand. The darkness of the alleys, the rooftops overlooking the city, the rooms too small to breathe in. There’s no crowd, only the walls around us, pressing closer, as if betting against my success. I focus on the one in front, breaking them down, pushing them back. But they never seem to come alone, grabbed from behind, as another tries to break me, because it’s never a fair fight with them. A pipe rolls across the ground. I pick it up unwillingly, out of necessity. Fighting clean here has never worked. Combo. Depression, guilt, and fear, stacking all together, three shadows closing in. A gang ready to strike, looking to stop what I was sent out to finish. I slip up once, and suddenly I’m overwhelmed by an endless number of hands clashing into me. And their voices are louder than their fists. 'You’re pathetic.' 'You’re not enough.' You’re weak.' My body hits the ground no matter how hard I fight. The world doesn’t fade, just waits. My breath is heavy, a distant prompt flickering deep inside me. Continue? I never remember pressing yes. Always wanting to give up. But still, I stand here once more, the world resetting around me, yet I still feel the past. Same bruises, same enemies, same repeating scenes, and yet I rise as tall as before. Because somewhere in the distance, more footsteps approach. Always coming.
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Apr 29
Apr 29, 2026 at 2:52 PM UTC
Nobodys Innocent (Damocles Contest: Retro Videogames)
No warning. No bell being rung. Just the start of the round rushing past. All I heard was the sound of footsteps rushing across concrete, the noise in my head reminding me I was never ready for what’s to come. Round start. They never wait patiently in line, quick to bombard me all at once. Regret swings first, fast and reckless. I duck just in time, only for doubt to catch me in the gut, waiting for its turn to strike. Over the years, I’ve learned this place like the back of my hand. The darkness of the alleys, the rooftops overlooking the city, the rooms too small to breathe in. There’s no crowd, only the walls around us, pressing closer, as if betting against my success. I focus on the one in front, breaking them down, pushing them back. But they never seem to come alone, grabbed from behind, as another tries to break me, because it’s never a fair fight with them. A pipe rolls across the ground. I pick it up unwillingly, out of necessity. Fighting clean here has never worked. Combo. Depression, guilt, and fear, stacking all together, three shadows closing in. A gang ready to strike, looking to stop what I was sent out to finish. I slip up once, and suddenly I’m overwhelmed by an endless number of hands clashing into me. And their voices are louder than their fists. 'You’re pathetic.' 'You’re not enough.' You’re weak.' My body hits the ground no matter how hard I fight. The world doesn’t fade, just waits. My breath is heavy, a distant prompt flickering deep inside me. Continue? I never remember pressing yes. Always wanting to give up. But still, I stand here once more, the world resetting around me, yet I still feel the past. Same bruises, same enemies, same repeating scenes, and yet I rise as tall as before. Because somewhere in the distance, more footsteps approach. Always coming.
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