He wields a sharp blade to make his craft,
Not to kill but to give people life.
A sheet of cloth he wraps around his waist,
And a tall pleated hat he wears with pride.
He starts the fire; make it burn wild,
Then slowly he calm, tame and befriend.
On those fiery pits a vessel is placed,
And on that vessel victuals are concocted.
This patient man eagerly waits for that moment;
Facing the heat; drenching in sweat.
All fatigue are diminished one his concoction is served,
To all those people who are weak and lifeless.
That’s how he battles with this great danger;
The brutal thing that we call hunger.
June 29,2009
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem