StormRiderzz

They call us dreamers, full of light and fire But don't see pressure dressed up as desire A thousand voices echo in my head   One mistake and your future dead   The clock's hunter, I'm just its prey Chasing perfecrion every single day I miss the joy of learning slow and wide Now I am a number ranked and tied   So, see not just marks I bring I am a heart still learning how to sing . -- Burhanuddin.I ✨ Your poem has found its home here. The way your words move feels less like ink on a page and more like waves colliding with the sky—raw, alive, and unforgettable. You’ve given us a piece of yourself, and that is the greatest gift a writer can offer. There's power in your words, heartbeat in your lines, and strong longing behind your poem.. Never feel alone, Cause people always look out for you. I became your fan, You will always be cherished for who you are. Wishing you all Happiness, Peace and Success. God Bless You. Thank you for trusting us with your voice. From this da...

 The only voice I hear in my silence. which conveys all my emotions, not to anyone but myself His melodies grows like aurora's flame, so beautiful that I go into dream. His songs hit chromesthesia in my veins, and now I see the sound in golden rains. ‘Kanne Kalaimaane' - haunts my chest, the song which doesn't end - it echoes me. No modern touch, just a vintage feel, which calms my soul. Through the divinity in his voice, I hear what can't be seen by others The symphony only he can compose, not just as a song but destiny's voice - Ilayaraaja - my soul's only choice -- S.G.Elakkia   ✨ Your poem has found its home here. The way your words move feels less like ink on a page and more like waves colliding with the sky—raw, alive, and unforgettable. You’ve given us a piece of yourself, and that is the greatest gift a writer can offer.  Thank you for trusting us with your voice. From this day forward, your words are part of something bigger, something that rides beyond...

 A north pole star that guides me, A man who leads a simple life, A man who works for the welfare of his fam, A man who can be trusted till the last breath of mine, A man with good soul and mind whose mind is off from sin, A constant source of strength and love that knows no end, His wisdom shared, that help our souls rise, Within my heart and soul he'll always dwell, A man who experiences his happiness through mine, A man who wishes only the best for me, A man who is always a shadow who guides me through my darkness, A man who gives me warm support,  A man who has sacrificed most of his dream to witness happiness in me, Many years may come and go, but DAD My love for you knows no end and is always eternal!! --Devasree.S.G   ✨ Your poem has found its home here. The way your words move feels less like ink on a page and more like waves colliding with the sky—raw, alive, and unforgettable. You’ve given us a piece of yourself, and that is the greatest gift a writer can offer....

When winter comes, it is cold But we have something to hold . Which is mother's hand I will hold it till end .   The louder she scold , I will become more bold . Her palm Makes me feel so warm .   The pain she suffered during my birth That's why I am in this earth . Her food is not only eatable , But also palatable . Her womb is my first home. I'm so proud of my mom. --Ashwanth.V  

This is a cold world—bitter, silent, steeped in dread, Where solitude is colder than the words unsaid. And so, at times, you linger where the frost takes hold, Though ice may pierce your bones, you choose to bear the cold.   Two kinds of souls you'll find upon this earth we tread— Not man and woman, good and bad, or heart and head. Not clever minds nor ones that flail and fall apart— But Hot and Warm, the only types that fill the heart . The Hot ones, they offer swift escape from chill ,   A blazing fire that bends the world to passion's will.   They’re radiant, magnetic, thrilling to behold, Alluring, wild, enchanting, beautiful and bold. They shine like beacons, brilliant in the stormy night, Like lamp-lit glass that draws in moths beneath the light.   The fiery souls erupt with scorching fire, A tempest born of surging passion’s ire. They storm your shores with blasts of fierce desire , And leave your tender hopes in crimson pyre.   Their flam...

You dance in my dreams like a drifting ghost , My joy, my ruin—my cursed, cherished host .    Ever since fate carved your shape in my skies , You bewitched me with storms in your soft eyes . I yearned to speak—yet silence wove a chain , A year crawled by, then you appeared in pain . You came to me when you had lost your light , While I stood tall, my stars in fullest height . I veiled my moons, eclipsed my loyal skies , Yet found my heaven in your shadowed eyes .  You broke my heart not once, but twice with ease , Then patched it up with soft, repeated pleas . You claimed you liked me — yes, you did , But I doubt it was as fierce as in my heart I hid . I say you’re special, but it fades in the air ,  You nod, but I wonder if you’re truly aware . You say I’m special, yet I feel so unseen , A wilted laurel waiting, stripped of its sheen . Is hope a sin — to dream that you'd be mine ? For though I'm praised, your love I can't divine .    Admired by ma...

  SONG TO MY BOUGAINVILLEA Drink to me only with thine eyes,          And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup,          And I’ll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise          Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove’s nectar sup,          I would not change for thine. I sent thee late a rosy wreath,          Not so much honouring thee As giving it a hope, that there          It could not withered be. But thou thereon didst only breathe,          And sent’st it back to me; Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,          Not of itself, but thee. Haan, Says not me but Ben Jonson to his Celia, You need not be so poetic, my bougainvillea. You are already a poem to this poet, However, not fully read yet, not fully read yet. Even in your spelli...

The knife is slick in his grip. His breath, ragged. His body, trembling from exhaustion. Blood—his, theirs—coats his arms, drips from his fingers, stains the earth beneath him. Cuts and bruises mark his skin, each a testament to the battle fought. His heart hammers against his ribs, wild and desperate, but none of it matters. The war is over. The city is lost. The mission is finished. And yet, here he stands. Because she isn’t here. And he isn’t done. The lake stretches before him, dark and endless, swallowing the sky’s last dying light. The wind stirs the water, whispering across the surface like a voice from the past. His cheeks are stiff with dried tears, his eyes glassy, hollow. He could go back. To the base. To the remnants of what once was. But the thought is empty, meaningless. Because Thea is gone. His fingers tighten around the knife. He steps forward— —And dives into the cold lake. The World Spins (Scene Change) “This is the last time,” Thea says, adju...

BOB-Cut Sengamalam🐘            ✓Sengamalam the elephant lives at the Rajagopalaswamy Temple in the town of Mannargudi, but her bob-cut hair has earned her fans across the country. Photos of the elephant, who is fondly called "Bob-cut Sengamalam", have captured the Internet's attention once again after they were posted on Twitter a day ago by Indian Forest Service officer Sudha Ramen.  ✓ Sengamalam was brought to the Rajagopalaswamy Temple from Kerala in 2003. Her mahout, S Rajagopal, is responsible for her unique fringed hairstyle - which requires a lot of maintenance and care.  ✓ Famously known as 'Bob-cut Sengamalam' who has a huge fan club just for her hairstyle," wrote Ms Ramen while sharing the pictures that have now gone viral on the microblogging platform.                ✓Sengamalam's hair is washed three times a day during the summers and at least once a day in other seasons. The mahout has also ins...

  “Life is short. Eat dessert first.”, sweetness is happiness across cultures, and that's why food is our universal culture. Some eat to live, some live to eat.  But we literarians read food, interpret food,  than just eat food. " Literature is our food. It's time to celebrate our food." Department of English,  Dr. N G P Arts and Science College organises  “International Conference  on  Fiesta of the Mind ” Exploring Food and English Literature in Interdisciplinary Horizon on 24.01.2025 Check out our eminent guest speakers👇 Objectives: Investigate how different cultures perceive, produce, and consume food Explore how authors employ food as symbols of wealth, abundance, scarcity, temptation,sustenance, or decay, and how these symbolic representations contribute to the overall meaning of the text Investigate how depictions of food in English literature reflect and reinforce, social hierarchies, class distinctions, and power dynamics