« Stainless Steel » I ‘m reading on a piece of cutlery,
A sparkling knife kept for years, of parental legacy,
The ancient blacksmith flattened, and curved,
Between the devil and the deep blue sea he carved.
the knife through years and years overdone,
Feasts and funerals attended, and yet shyly shone,
To me, as I hold, the piece whispers her stainlessness;
From earth entrails and underworlds of blackness:
“Some brave men did liberate,
Never care of the holder’s love or hate,
Only my maker, my creator the blacksmith I bear,
Of his hammer and his anvil I had no fear,
That was my birthplace and it gave the mark,
One day, the cycle puts me again in the dark.”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem