The Crucified Artist Poem by Akhtar Jawad

Cross of his art on his bleeding shoulders,
With a few friends who recognized him,
With the bleeding body and crying soul,
When all failures of life crucified him,
Time noticed him with a nod at last,
So what if now say he was God of Art.

On his grave now with heeling ointments!
He has no wounds or any deadly pains,
If there is any thing that bothers him now,
It were you who gave him the dirty stains!
Time! Do you remember, you did in the past,
So what if now say he was God of Art.

Keeping works of his art under lock and key,
You are selling imitations at a too high price,
You critics! And so called patrons of art!
I wish if mighty time could turn your dice!
Time! Feelingless machine, playing his part,
So what if now say he was God of Art.

With a hypothesis, he was a great artist,
You are getting him out of a peaceful grave,
The research work on him, truly sincere?
I doubt in disguise is the same old knave,
Pinching him again with a sharp new thwart?
So what if now say he was God of Art.