By Mushtaq B.Barq
Pen has for ages lugged the fill of brush,
the lavish lashes of minutiae, gourmet delicacies and private dreams
and in monochrome like the philosophic life itself, intensive labor and unthinkable loss
and in between the veritable rainbow of adolescence, unutterable woes of old age
but on the dead bed through a subway of profound obscurity, rosy hues sincerely mourn
yet the nip of the eloquent writer knows how typically to put out the gesture
of appropriate colors, and blithe caress, adept ridges and infinite mist of ineffable mysteries.
Instantly summoned in the Great Garden of Imaginations,
Bosch’s Garden is proportionally the rosy projection of aesthetic judgment
wherein, sin like our own tyranny is ostensibly a common narrative
adequately dealing with learned monks like a mourning mother for a half son,
nun’s noise as counter to our Rouf, an added air
for a non-saintly sage and holy man at the sparkling bay
either sighs like the last morning’s mist or sings in a cabinet of ‘cause.’
Like the four vital essentials of Adam
Bosch’s four enduring images have subtly from the infinite found the finite:
God at the cheerful front of the triptych objectively analyzing the Divine Zeal,
prominent corner, The panel at the left for Paradise, Adam and Eve’s abode
What Divine hand, what stunning handwriting, what soulful source!
and down in the humble cabin of Bosh, innocent angels and cozy fairies rock and roll
on his prepared canvas, like presiding deities of rare flora and fauna up above in the ether.
The artist is a half-god.
With semicircular canals carting the serum of enhanced sensitivities
over the sacred mounts occupied respectively by angels two,
a habitable globe of pleasant thoughts, his noble head,
serving Bosh with fertile seeds of humanitarian need, thus created an Imaginary Paradise
wherein, nakedness nakedly nurses the needs.
For creative passion and aesthetic pleasures is what in Imaginary Paradise
a pulsating mortal does dearly need,
a sexual urge and obsessed nudity of mundane breed.
The terrible fall of wicked man the right panel fairly marked
what drastic change in reckless mood
from acute pleasure to terrible punishment, an apoplectic stroke of blush
from dull blue to radiant red,
a fall man among mythical creatures, unjustly enriching the violent background
of both Bosh’s dire need and Creators Wrath
of congealed blood, fire, dull crimson at the civil horizon, open wound of a sinner
all their tulips ravished on their lustful lips. What dreadful night of mighty cries!
Mushtaq B.Barq is a Columnist, Poet and Fiction Writer. He is the author of “Feeble prisoner, “ Wings of Love” and many translation works are credited to the author like “ Verses Of Wahab Khar” and “ Songs Of Sochkral”
