I broke from my parent rock
And rolled down the mountain.
Hoping somewhere I would be able to lock,
But my journey ended away from the beautiful terrain.
Someone picked me up from there.
So that he could use me for him
And brushed me like a sheep's hair
To make a hammer to use me for him.
I was asked to beat the iron sheet,
To make it sharp, thin and frail,
Which made the iron sheet to bleat,
To transfer the sheet into a nail.
I was used against my friends
And then was thrown away,
On the long dead ends.
I was alone in that way...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem