A Small Piece Of Stone Poem by Abdul Wahab

A hill stands nearby very stout
An egoist lord not far away still exists
A man from the village cannot bear any more
Humiliation, insults, suppression, torture
So he with staggering feet goes and prays
Begs with moistened eyes and in low voice cries
To him no one listened to, no one to stand by
Helpless he feels and a weary sense grip in
The river, the air, the grass of meadows
The clouds of the sky and the stars of the heaven
All make him feel that he is nothing but nothing
Stone rolls, rolls are the dew drops on the blades of leaves
So are the waves of streams and tide of time
If anything remains, remain are those pain and sorrow
No sun in life yet rises its head, the hopelessness
From the belly frustration sprouts out like seed
And flows like flake over the top of the hill
He cracks; he is crashed, dashed and thrashed
In anger he picks up a small piece of stone
And forcefully he throws it towards the hill
He sees the smoke first then he sees the fire
For a while he could not understand the magic
Could not understand the wonder he had done
Now he realises he is fully free and fully capable
No more the pricking pride of the lord hovering around
He had cracked up and burned down the mighty with a small stone.