My anvil and hammer are good I often think <br />But my metal cannot be heated that easy <br />Leave alone shaping it one day into a knife. <br />Some one is doing the mischief here. <br /> <br />The smell of the melting steel <br />Dies out as I sprinkle my little water over it. <br />But I want to shape it till <br />My ego says I too am with a knife at last. <br /> <br />The confluence of your arms and arguments <br />Unnerves me and I am finished <br />But the blacksmith in me wakes up <br />And prepares a new anvil and a hammer! <br /> <br />The lost sleep is no more an illusion <br />And the dreams keeping aloof are delightful neither. <br />My conflicts are that of having these two <br />A bed to sleep on for long <br />And a night that cannot burst like a bubble. <br /> <br />My anvil and hammer are no more in demand <br />And a gold smith and his friends laugh at me! <br />My iron may soon rust away, I am afraid <br />Whose anvil shall I search for now? <br /> <br />The resolution of my conflicts with time, <br />And the few people whom I really know <br />Have to be thrown into a new fire <br />And I cannot be that black smith any more!<br /><br />M.D Dinesh Nair<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-mind-of-a-blacksmith/
