Amma, of what use am I born? <br /> <br />The beatings from a blacksmith’s expert hand, <br />Received by an iron piece, <br />Turns it into a sparkling swift sword. <br /> <br /> Year after year, <br /> You too beat me with all kinds of suffering; <br /> But, still I turn not to be of any useful thing! <br /> <br />The persistent burning of a raw gold piece, <br />By the hand of a creative goldsmith, <br />Makes it pure and ever shining ornament. <br /> <br /> Year after year, <br /> You too burn me in severe ordeals; <br /> But, still I become not pure! <br /> <br />The enduring gardener, nips the sick stems, <br />Cuts and throws away surplus twigs, <br />To make the plant bear fruit soon. <br /> <br /> Year after year, <br /> You too weed out futile desires and relations, <br /> But, still I bore not any fruit! <br /> <br />Of what use You tenderly rendered me?<br /><br />Raman Savithiri<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/984-of-what-use-am-i-born/
