My anvil and hammer are good I often think
But my metal cannot be heated that easy
Leave alone shaping it one day into a knife.
Some one is doing the mischief here.

The smell of the melting steel
Dies out as I sprinkle my little water over it.
But I want to shape it till
My ego says I too am with a knife at last.

The confluence of your arms and arguments
Unnerves me and I am finished
But the blacksmith in me wakes up
And prepares a new anvil and a hammer!

The lost sleep is no more an illusion
And the dreams keeping aloof are delightful neither.
My conflicts are that of having these two
A bed to sleep on for long
And a night that cannot burst like a bubble.

My anvil and hammer are no more in demand
And a gold smith and his friends laugh at me!
My iron may soon rust away, I am afraid
Whose anvil shall I search for now?

The resolution of my conflicts with time,
And the few people whom I really know
Have to be thrown into a new fire
And I cannot be that black smith any more!

M.D Dinesh Nair

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-mind-of-a-blacksmith/