tags

upon hindi meaning Shayari, Status, Quotes, Stories, Poem

Best upon hindi meaning Shayari, Status, Quotes, Stories & Poem.

  • Latest Stories

#mylove

THE RED HILL’S KING
 
Rise, O Red Hill’s King!
Prep your armies vast.
The demon horde conches the music o’ war.
Here arrives the beastly Son of Satan from South.
 
Your wicked Queen ran away,
Dealt your ancestral Holy Casket to the Beast.
The dark prodigy advances,
An ambition to annex your empire with Hell.
 
Why you drink now, my Lord?
This ain’t no cause of revel, you imbecile.
The royal sages forewarned,
Yet had no impact on your head.
 
O there he comes,
There they lay, your murdered guards.
Red Hill’s besieged,
Enters the Beast in your Royal Court.
 
 
Stomps and shatters your Holy Casket,
Stomps and shatters your peace.
Down on your knees you beg mercy,
Yet Ares directs to war.
 
Draws your sword from your scabbard
And strikes it at the Beast’s belly.
Stands, he, unscathed
And you, my Lord, in horror.
 
Gropes, he, from your hair
And drags you out on battlefield.
The ghastly battalion awaits,
For a sacrifice to Satan’s broth.
 
Your General marches forth aside,
Your army fearlessly behind,
You slice your sword at the Beast’s wrist
And you join your forces to command.
 
The gruesome clash begins,
A battle of Herculean might.
Fearlessly ride, you,
Slaying the monsters of the Beast.
 
Down goes your tower,
Down goes your castle to ruination.
Demonic catapults fire upon your army,
Diminishing your numbers’ might.
 
Unaffected, you charge,
Take the demon Beast head on.
Your General rides along with you,
Your most loyal warrior, a true Lancelot.
 
Down falls your number vast,
Down falls the Beast’s horde,
Your General trips down the usurper,
You strike his chest and splice his heart out.
 
Falls the Beast silent,
Drained off his flesh and blood.
You raise your sword sky-high,
The demon horde bewildered.
 
Retreats down the Hill,
The mighty usurper’s forces,
Take your sword to your reliquary,
A blade carrying the Beast’s heart.
 
Replace your Holy Casket with it,
Display your glory;
Head back to your throne,
And reclaim your inner peace.
 
Rebuilds your castle, brick-by-brick,
Regains your kingdom’s might.
Yet peace is afar,
For the fugitives still revolt.
 
Your remainder army suppresses them,
You rule your kingdom,
But the sky grows dark again,
A new struggle dawns.
 
Enters your General in Royal Court,
Speaks well of you from the commoner’s mouth.
Self’s glory lost amidst,
Exits the Court, this Machiavellian.
 
Enters the reliquary, this fallen comrade,
Takes your glorious blade
And dips the Beast’s heart
In the raging Satan’s flame.
 
Places the burning heart, he,
Into the bony ribs of imprisoned Beast’s remains.
Monster is revived,
A scion of Hell’s vengeance.
 
Rises the Devil Beast,
Snaps the neck of your General, my Lord.
Rises, he, from his dingy cell,
Into his ethereal form.
 
Burns a hole in your castle’s foundation,
Brings it down brick-for-brick.
A quake shakes the ground he walks,
Raises back his army, undead.
 
The demon ghouls march forth,
Revived under their commander,
Numbers regained.
A multitude of Death.
 
Your demeanour broken, my Lord,
Your numbers spent.
Your castle crumbles,
Your kingdom in mortal peril.
 
Ride out, you, to the battlefield,
With your remaining cavalry.
Infantry armed by your inspiration,
And scantily by armour and weapons.
 
Drawn close to each other,
The Beast and you;
A word to propagate upon,
Before the climactic bloodshed.
 
Beast: “Surrender, Red Hill’s King.
Naught hath happened irrevocable.
Surrender thee, and I
Shall make thee, my well-paid herald.”
 
King: “Nay! Thy fiery demon.
Pierce my bosom’s heart,
Mutilate my corpse!
The soul within shall reunite with the Holy Kingdom!”
 
Angrily, the Beast replies:
“Father Satan shall hath
Thy soul as his broth!”
And swings his mace down upon the King.
 
The Red Hill’s King with all his might,
Blocks the charge with his sword.
“Charge!” says you, my Lord,
And your loyal army advances to war.
 
The epic clash begins,
The gruesome war ensues,
Your numbers fully spent,
You retreat to your ruins.
 
Afraid and wounded, you flee,
Sends your last man to West.
Finds a cavern deep below
The ruins of your castle, to hide.
 
Marches forth the Beast
To your hideout.
Pulls you out like a worm from ground,
Drags you back, you cowardly wretch.
 
Tosses you in front of himself,
Orders his ghoulish force at halt.
Challenges your might, your glory,
In a head-on duel.
 
You arm yourself with your renowned blade,
The Beast with his fiery mace.
Prance upon one-another,
To decide this Age’s fate.
 
Valour you show, O mighty Red Hill’s Lord,
But your courage has no impact upon the Beast.
Every scar, every strain upon his body,
Brings you close to Hell’s wrath.
 
Has had enough antics, the Beast,
Strikes you with his mighty mace,
Your armour saves your bosom,
Yet you cough out blood.
 
Strikes, he, down his mace again,
Down upon your back.
You eat the dirt of your soil,
Adulterated by your royal blood.
 
Weary and wounded you lie,
Puddle of blood on the ground.
Choked by your final breaths,
Await you, my Lord, for Hades to embrace you.
 
Mercilessly beats the Beast, you,
No force against him standing.
The conch shells blow again,
Atop the Western hill.
 
The royal army stands firm,
Led by the Empress of West.
War-elephants, cavalry, infantry; all present,
Awaiting their Queen’s express command.
 
The Beast halts his shower of brutality,
Stares determined upon the Empress.
Her army marches forth,
To settle this Age’s final score.
 
The pace quickens of the Empress’ army,
Their cavalry gallops down with vigour.
The pace quickens of the ghoulish army,
All set for Hell’s sacrilege.
 
You, my Lord, find your humungous trumpet,
In the wreckage of your castle,
Makes it massive blow heard to all,
Your final battle cry.
 
The demons and the royals clash,
The Beast takes on the Empress.
So graceful and glorious is she,
Her legends come true to witness.
 
Slices clean the Beast’s legs,
Slices clean his abdomen in upper cut.
The Beast taken aback,
Continues to challenge her glory.
 
Makes their way down, the Empress’ war chariots,
Downhill with their bladed wheels.
Cuts the ghouls in pieces many,
Until the Beast stands solitary.
 
O Red Hill’s King, you
Grab a bow and arrow.
The string pulled with all your strength,
For one last of your move.
 
The Empress knocks down the Beast,
Stabs her blade in his chest.
You, my Lord, fire your arrow,
And blind this raging bull.
 
Drained, you fall incapacitated,
Yet the Beast rises again.
The sky echoes ferocious roars,
Fly down the Royal Winged-Lions of East.
 
Land and prance upon the Beast, they
Gnaw him to his bone.
Their sharp sabres dug in,
More effective than a mortal blade.
 
Chunks of flesh eaten away,
Stands up, the Beast, in a wobbly way.
The Hell’s Serpent constricts from beneath his feet,
Drags him down for his Father’s broth.
 
Lies you, my Lord, within Death’s grasp,
The Empress declares the war won to you.
Peacefully, you fall asleep for eternity,
A smile upon your face.
 
The Empress prays a seat for you in Heaven’s Court,
Takes back your glorious sword as her relic.
Cremates your body upon this war-torn land,
A history to be never subject to oblivion.
 
Comes down from Heaven, the Eternal King,
Down upon the Red Hill.
Annexes your empire to His,
Blesses your soul for afterlife’s journey.
 
Satan looks up at the Eternal King,
Swears vengeance in a soliloquy.
The present’s sunny sky- a canvas,
God smiles and hurls his roaring thunderbolt.
 
-----------X-----------
 

8 Love
3 Comment

Dear Vagina
This piece is a love poetry, 
Poetry about love for my Vagina. 
Oh 
Did i just say that out aloud, 
Creating in your rightly rationale and politically correct head, a misogynistic doubt. 
Did i make a mistake, 
Splashing salty water in your forever shut eyes, pulling you out from your unending sleep, wide and awake. 
This is a letter to you, Vagina. 
Coming from An Indian woman, 
From Laxmi, Pooja, and Savitri 
Socially adopted as the sacred cow, 
internally dying to become a hyena.

Dear Vagina,

How have you been doing? 
Under the manhood of males, 
Imprisoned with accuracy and security, 
Behind the societal bars of patriarchy, chauvinism and misogyny in jails.

I know, i do know, 
When everytime your name is taken 
in hushed tones and unheard voices, 
You feel guilty, don't you? Like 
A criminal who has escaped his sentence or
A murderer who has killed an entire tribe or
A thief who has stolen invaluable jewelleries 
I know, that they show no chivalry.

I know you are scared, 
When you suffer from infections and diseases you can't utter a word about, 
When you bleed 2400 days in a lifetime feeling cramps days in and days out, 
When you are stared upon, shaved upon, pounded upon, drugged upon, flavoured upon, inserted objects upon, leaving burnouts, 
When you are nicknamed with names like pussy or bitch or hole or cunt or slut, improperly pronounced as vajeena, vageena or urgh what not, chuck out.

They say, you are gentle, 
Like the touch-me-nots, like the pecks of feathers, like the hugs of cotton balls. 
And maybe you are, 
But it must hurt when the feather takes all the pounding from the drilling hammer, 
And a mere stroke to his balls right there, 
Leaves him to do nothing but shammer. 
They say, you are a temple, 
A place for the goddess of womanhood,  for the mistress of customs, the creator of feminity. 
And maybe you are, 
But the idols must be 
Loved and lauded,
Adored and admired,
Chanted and cheered, 
Bowed down to and doted down to, 
Magnified and sanctified, 
Venerated and worshipped, 
Satisfied and served. 
And love, you, here, are a shame, S.H.A.M.E 
Because, 
You are supposed to be rosy pink as the petals of newly formed little red rose buds,
You are supposed to be smooth and transparent and lucid as the shining shimmering glass panes on the windows, 
You are supposed to be tight and flexible, just in the right amount, wild and virgin, suitable enough for men to feed their gigantic egos,
You are supposed to please men's best friends as they use gadgets and clothing and cars and properties to serve their bodies with materialistic pleasure.

You are supposed to be my success and character portfolio, 
because you 
You are the degrees of my younger years
You are the gold medals in sports competitions
You are the miniskirts from my shopping spree
You are the living that i earn by working 24x7
You are the count of men i loved, fucked, dated
You are the position at my workplaces 
You are the court's decree of my loyalty 
You are the voice screaming on public stages

I have 37.2 trillion cells, 206 bones, 642 skeletal muscles, 32 body organs, 5 operative senses and 1 brain. 
Because my brain decides 
What salary I get, which man I deserve, what ranking I belong to, what points my character certificate scores, 
And not the quantum of penises have pierced your descending walls and left you bleeding .

And you, my dear little darling, 
You are only one part of my whole 
Though you are able to produce a living 
And so I'll love you in all 4 seasons,
But for all the right reasons.

You crave for my love, don't you?
And even i want to touch you and caress you and feel you and please you, but i guess it'd take 10 more centuries to meet you, my love. 
Because this world doesn't understand the meaning of female orgasms. 
But till then, 
Be the pussy and beat the balls.

Sincerely, 
Women.
#dpf

5 Love
1 Comment
3 Share

Dear Vagina
This piece is a love poetry, 
Poetry about love for my Vagina. 
Oh 
Did i just say that out aloud, 
Creating in your rightly rationale and politically correct head, a misogynistic doubt. 
Did i make a mistake, 
Splashing salty water in your forever shut eyes, pulling you out from your unending sleep, wide and awake. 
This is a letter to you, Vagina. 
Coming from An Indian woman, 
From Laxmi, Pooja, and Savitri 
Socially adopted as the sacred cow, 
internally dying to become a hyena.

Dear Vagina,

How have you been doing? 
Under the manhood of males, 
Imprisoned with accuracy and security, 
Behind the societal bars of patriarchy, chauvinism and misogyny in jails.

I know, i do know, 
When everytime your name is taken 
in hushed tones and unheard voices, 
You feel guilty, don't you? Like 
A criminal who has escaped his sentence or
A murderer who has killed an entire tribe or
A thief who has stolen invaluable jewelleries 
I know, that they show no chivalry.

I know you are scared, 
When you suffer from infections and diseases you can't utter a word about, 
When you bleed 2400 days in a lifetime feeling cramps days in and days out, 
When you are stared upon, shaved upon, pounded upon, drugged upon, flavoured upon, inserted objects upon, leaving burnouts, 
When you are nicknamed with names like pussy or bitch or hole or cunt or slut, improperly pronounced as vajeena, vageena or urgh what not, chuck out.

They say, you are gentle, 
Like the touch-me-nots, like the pecks of feathers, like the hugs of cotton balls. 
And maybe you are, 
But it must hurt when the feather takes all the pounding from the drilling hammer, 
And a mere stroke to his balls right there, 
Leaves him to do nothing but shammer. 
They say, you are a temple, 
A place for the goddess of womanhood,  for the mistress of customs, the creator of feminity. 
And maybe you are, 
But the idols must be 
Loved and lauded,
Adored and admired,
Chanted and cheered, 
Bowed down to and doted down to, 
Magnified and sanctified, 
Venerated and worshipped, 
Satisfied and served. 
And love, you, here, are a shame, S.H.A.M.E 
Because, 
You are supposed to be rosy pink as the petals of newly formed little red rose buds,
You are supposed to be smooth and transparent and lucid as the shining shimmering glass panes on the windows, 
You are supposed to be tight and flexible, just in the right amount, wild and virgin, suitable enough for men to feed their gigantic egos,
You are supposed to please men's best friends as they use gadgets and clothing and cars and properties to serve their bodies with materialistic pleasure.

You are supposed to be my success and character portfolio, 
because you 
You are the degrees of my younger years
You are the gold medals in sports competitions
You are the miniskirts from my shopping spree
You are the living that i earn by working 24x7
You are the count of men i loved, fucked, dated
You are the position at my workplaces 
You are the court's decree of my loyalty 
You are the voice screaming on public stages

I have 37.2 trillion cells, 206 bones, 642 skeletal muscles, 32 body organs, 5 operative senses and 1 brain. 
Because my brain decides 
What salary I get, which man I deserve, what ranking I belong to, what points my character certificate scores, 
And not the quantum of penises have pierced your descending walls and left you bleeding .

And you, my dear little darling, 
You are only one part of my whole 
Though you are able to produce a living 
And so I'll love you in all 4 seasons,
But for all the right reasons.

You crave for my love, don't you?
And even i want to touch you and caress you and feel you and please you, but i guess it'd take 10 more centuries to meet you, my love. 
Because this world doesn't understand the meaning of female orgasms. 
But till then, 
Be the pussy and beat the balls.

Sincerely, 
Women.



#dpf

4 Love
0 Comment
1 Share
When feeling lost 
I find meaning in
Everything that is around me,
I find meaning in
Old memories,
I find meaning in
Silence,
I find meaning in
Friendship,
I find meaning in
Love,
I find meaning in
Myself .

 

4 Love
0 Comment

This philosopher 'predicted' what would happen in 2017


He was right about Trump and Modi. Will he be right about 2017?
Mention the name Nostradamus and some people will say that he predicted almost the entire history of humankind. Two of his 'predictions' seem to have come true with the victory of Donald Trump and the rise of Narendra Modi.
He 'predicted' the rise of "the great shameless, audacious bawler". Some people have interpreted this as being about Trump.
His prophecies written in four line verses called quatrains and in different languages have been open to study and interpretation for years now.
Here are some verses from his work that could very well be about what we can expect in 2017.



1. Floods and droughts

For forty years the rainbow will not be seen.

For forty years it will be seen every day.

The dry earth will grow more parched,

and there will be great floods when it is seen.

Possible Meaning:
Nostradamus could very well be talking about climate change which has been a big issue for years now. Will climate change reach fever pitch in 2017?


2. A battle during the sunset
Shortly before sun set, battle is engaged.

A great nation is uncertain.

Overcome, the sea port makes no answer,

the bridge and the grave both in foreign places.

Possible Meaning:

Could this be about the attack on Mosul where Daesh is on the run?



3. A time of peace prosperity

Pestilences extinguished, the world becomes smaller,

for a long time the lands will be inhabited peacefully.

People will travel safely through the sky (over) land and seas:

then wars will start up again.

Possible Meaning:

It would be great if there were no conflicts for a while. But the question is could we maintain the peace? Or would wars start again as is stated in the last verse of the quatrain.



4. A controversy in a royal family
Letters are found in the queen's chests,

no signature and no name of the author.

The ruse will conceal the offers;

so that they do not know who the lover is.

Possible Meaning:

Which country is it? With so much talk about the British monarchy in the past year, could it be about the Queen?


5. The waning power of the West
Twice put up and twice cast down,

the East will also weaken the West.

Its adversary after several battles

chased by sea will fail at time of need.

Possible Meaning:

In recent news, China and Russia have been on the rise. The United States will aim to focus on internal matters once Trump comes to power. The property mogul has time and again said that, with the help of his fellow Americans, he will "Make America great again". Could this affect the United States' power equation with countries in the Far East?

4 Love
0 Comment