My father pounded iron all day long
for one kilogram of bread
my father bent iron twelve hours a day
for half a kilogram of meat
sparks flew from the iron
on the steel anvil
the iron sweated and shed blood
the iron screamed between hammer and anvil...
My father craved for a drop of water...
You
do you know what iron is all about?
These days instead of iron
they use plastics
iron is hard
your fingers hurt and bleed
yet I have pounded with pencil-pushing fingers
I know
how the dark sweat ran down my brow
for a spoonful of ice cream....
Krikor Ficici
translated by Tatul Sonentz
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