Rajasir Welcomes You All to the World of Wisdom This Site is dedicated to my elder brother Arthur G. Finch and his lovely wife, Margaret, and my students.
Words of Wisdom Wisdom is a song. It is not seriousness. It is playfulness. It is not sad. It is celebrating. And unless wisdom is a song it is not true. Then it is only knowledge, mere knowledge. It is only pretending to be wisdom. But real wisdom that can also become a song, that ultimately becomes a song, is born only out of meditation. There is no other way. Rajasir
Abaddon
by Raja Sharma (Age: 46) copyright 04-17-2009
This world to me is only undesired Transient smile, a heard sound merely wordage. The unheard melodies divine, untired Flow from Master to this ignorant page.
Father to me is a failed Daedalus Striving to accomplish aberration. Icarus vanishing into blue rush Mocking at follies of human creation.
Labyrinth of worldly struggles and strifes Leaves me with a deep mournful sigh of grief. Now family, kingdom, or nation thrives With a cabal's assent in journey brief.
Judas, Brutus, Iago in harmony Playing symphony higher than Babel. Abaddon I live in, sad and gloomy Pretending a smile, sharing the table.
By Rajasir
Note: Abaddon: 1. In the Old Testament, a place of destruction, abode of the wicked dead, hell. 2. In the New Testament, the angel of destruction, Apolloyn.
Heart of My Heart You Spin Me Like A Top by Arthur G. Finch (Age: 76) copyright 12-03-2008
Age Rating: 13 to 127
Heart of my heart, you are a part of me, Love of my life, I feel close to thee.Where currents of my being vibrate when you are near, When you are away from me, I shed a lonely tear. When I lay on my bed at night, I have a dream of you,Awakened early in the morning, I get a precious view. You are the sun of my day, that shines upon my life,I praise the God of Heaven, for making you my wife. The moon, they say, affects the tides, which wash upon the shore, You are the one, the only one of whom I do adore,No matter where or how far I travel,you are my guiding light As if you were a twinkling star,shining in the night. It was no accident, the day on which we met, Planned by Cupid, and God, alone, for that I have no regret.Fifty six years together and neither has ever failed, Some marriages last that long, while other ones have paled. We’re old, becoming senile, for that we have to smile,We’ve traveled life together and covered any A mile. Thanking our God in heaven we praise him for His care, we sit content on the front porch, in our matching rocking chairs.
World of Little Gods by Raja Sharma (Age: 46) copyright 02-27-2009
Age Rating: 18 to 127
Christ started walking along the 79th Park Avenue, lost in his heavenly thoughts. People were passing by, grinning and passing remark, “Nice get up, buddy! Just out of studio!" and so on.
The priest, Mathew Walter, was keenly following him, trying to remain as close to him as he could in the hustle and bustle of the New York streets."May God nobody hurt him again!"He murmured to himself. The word 'again' was uttered with a sense of pain.
"What is this, my friend?"Christ asked a street vendor, indicating towards a bar of chocolate.
"Get lost, you pauper!"The young vendor, with his headphones on, shouted at him.
"God bless you!"Smiled Christ and moved on.
Matthew Walter approached the vendor and bought two bars of chocolate and continued his pursuit.
Whole day Matthew followed Lord Jesus Christ, but he was unable to have a word with Him, for the moment he caught up with Him, suddenly, he felt as if a force was trying to hold his tongue. The bars of chocolate were still clenched in his sweating hand. It was the month of July and the sweltering heat was unbearable.
He remembered his country church where 8 orphans would be waiting for him. He had come to New York to buy new clothes for the poor children. His wife,Elda,had reminded him emphatically that he would have to come back before the sun was down. Now, it was 1:00pm.He could not keep his eyes off Jesus.
At one place Jesus stopped and sat down on the steps of a large building. A security personal came out shouting,"Hey! You joker, what are you sitting here for?"
"Can you give me some water, my friend?" smiled Christ at him.
"Get lost! This is not a charity. You will have to buy water here”, the guard pulled His arm to lift him and push him away from the stair steps.
Matthew was watching all this with his watery eyes. He wanted to do near Christ, but an invisible force was resisting him. May be ,Lord himself wanted him to stay away. It was quite strange to him. He could not understand why only he was being kept from approaching Christ while others were mocking at Him and literally pushing Him away from their ways.
The pursuit of Lord Christ went on for hours but, ultimately, the priest lost Him in the crowd. With sad heart, he began to walk towards the market to buy clothes for his dependants. It was nearing 6:00pm, and the last train to his village departed at 8:00pm.
Though he bought the required articles of clothing for the kids, his mind was trying to bring back the figure of Jesus. How surprised his wife would be? Would she believe him?
When Matthew reached home, it was ten minutes to midnight. In spite of having brought all the things as he had been advised by his wife, his steps felt to be heavier while walking through the church gate. In the small cottage behind the church, he and his wife had made their little heaven. Though childless, the couple found their happiness among the orphans which were brought to the church from various parts of the country.
When he stepped into his room, he faltered for a second because he saw Christ playing with the little kids.
"He is a poor man who has no place to live, so I gave him shelter in our church, “his wife whispered in his ear.
Before he could tell her that how wrong she was that the very church had been built to worship that very Person whom she had called "a poor man”, she continued, “He seems to have some kind of mental illness because he calls himself Jesus".
Matthew was bewildered and he had no words in his mouth. How he could convince her that the Person playing with the children was Lord Jesus Christ. Finally, He rallied courage and addressed to the Lord," Lord, may I ask you a question?'
"Yes, my son, “smiled Jesus.
"Why have you come to my humble abode?"Matthew asked with both hands folded.
"Because no one wants me outside. They are ignorant and innocent people. They laugh at me and push me around. I forgive them. But you have bought chocolates for me. Won’t you give those chocolates to me, Matthew?"
The priest stammered and with shaking hands pulled the chocolates out of his pocket. Jesus took the bars of chocolates and gave to the children.
Next morning, the news spread like jungle fire that an imposter had entered the church and he called himself Jesus. People began to gather in front of the priest's cottage. They were shouting, “Send the imposter out! Hand him over to us!"
Matthew did not know what to do. He took the Jesus to the back door and told him to run away. Jesus smiled and said that this is not the first time I am facing this. He added that he had faced the ire of the people before he was crucified.
Somehow Matthew succeeded to convince the people and told them to go away. When he reentered his room, he found that Jesus was not there.
Next morning, he took the final step and, without giving any reason, left the church. To his wife, he only said, “The church where Jesus is not welcome can not be the place of worship. They can sell his faith, earn through the faith, teach the faith, worship the faith, but when He comes before them, they call Him an imposter”. He began to weep like a child. His wife could not understand what had happened to him.
Raja sir
Wishing by Arthur G. Finch
Wishing
Sometimes I wish that I could write, Quality lines that would bring delight. The rich thoughts in verses that captivate, And will cause hearts and minds to salivate.
The rich color and sounds that come from words, Magnificent rhythm that mimics the birds. That somehow matches the classics, old, Written during days, when the poets were bold.
I think of Tennyson, and William Blake, Certainly Shakespeare, for goodness sake. Classic words of Wordsworth, Poe, and the rest, Both Brownings, for example, and all the best.
I think of those masters and the rapture, It would be for this failure to capture, At least, for me, but once in a life time, To generate like them, words that will rhyme.
A wish and a dream, to hold till I die, And a dream that I can identify, My second wish, and the last one of all, To see my brother in distant, Nepal.
Blue Flower by Raja Sharma
Copyright 12-03-2008
Love to me is not a bard's metaphor An ardent longing with myriad shadows My love Marvell's mistress at a distant shore.
Play did I with passion when youth was prime Pray, play of bodies was Phoenix revived Wanton ways did this body sway with time.
Ever faithful, forever your, is noise Heard learned applied was Novella's Flower Clamoring world leaves poet sans any choice.
Come once slowly, don't tread, hark this heart's call Shed self, discern vision with heart not eyes This outcast Odysseus has love for all.
11th of September 2008
Rajasir's Bookshelf(Click on the Image)
The Future of Collaborative Fiction Story Mash, the future of collaborative fiction. A creative writing community for authors, amateur writers, readers and anyone interested in collaborative fiction and collaborative creative writing.
BC to AD
Walk three Magi, time BC,
Morning star pursue with glee.
A Child is born to alter course,
Find to kill, use every force.
King H. proud in power blind,
Fear and death akin in mind.
Baby Boy then Man Sage Lord,
Son own human form praise God.
Dark minds philistine with fear
Crucify Lord with thieves near.
One Soul Divine missed say me,
Death gave time new page AD.
Rajasir 3rd August 2008
My Dancing God
By Rajasir
He dances; He revels, His nature so excels.
You saint sad shroud, Life taint mad crowd.
He grows; His flowers grow, He sows this, cowards mow.
You cocooned mad saint, Rue, befooled sad paint.
He my dancing God Divine; Grape shy trancing Lord in vine.
You cry His name all in vain, Avarice, hate, then fall in pain.
He life bestows to live 'n' grow, See he bellows Lo! kill 'n' throw.
Make His dance your rosy France. Take a glance my poesy dance.
Stories from Heart
Life is an uncertain and unpredictable preparation for death, so let's make this happier by sharing our thoughts and sentiments and learning from one another-Rajasir.
Having gone through thousands of books in my life, I find that my desire is still insatiable, but when I turn to the modern writers, I find that majority of them write for their various reasons and none of them write for the sake of writing, and I hardly find the punctuated lines of Bacon, witty satire of Swift, aphorism of Bertrand Russell, direct indirect style of Hemingway, description of Thomas Hardy, technicalities of Addison, Steel, and Charles Lamb, the profoundness of discourse, use of precise diction, and what I find is merely an ugly reflection of the writings of the past masters.
Not that there are no good writers, there are many but due to economic and geographical reasons they don't get access to the publishers who are gathering their bounty by publishing rich writers, irrespective of the value of the content and style of writing.
Though there are many writing contests, I find that almost all of them are highly manipulated and organized to increase the popularity of their sites or organizations.
The art of writing is gradually diminishing because the modern generation avoids the volumes of books which they must have read before picking the pen.
I might be highly opinionated but I can't help it. I would not like to get any negative feedback because I have not written this piece to instruct you or guide you, it is a kind of catharsis to me. I had to say and I have said it.
Look at my new online photo album filled with pictures from my vacations, sporting events, and my family.