Tools

Tools Creation

Was the intellect of hard-worker

Turning work into culture

Was the greatness of hard-worker

Hard workers handed over us the culture of Work

To kill a tiger from afar surely

Son of the hills churned mother’s heart

Bent a raw stick tethered a string, made a bow

Made the first machine

The great genius is a tribal

With a roar

And sounded the bow

The one who hold the bow

Stood as Arjuna

When  cherara chearara cher

Thundering it rained

With sweeping noise the cold breeze

Gnawed the bones ‘

From the friction of trees

 when the spread fire was seen

Holding a ball of cotton

Using the striking of stones

The nomads discovered the fire bag

That intelligence is the matchbox

That became a principle

Neither slashes like leaves or stiff as skin

Wanted to gift a delicate cloth to his nation

Spinning and spinning his brain

Turning his mind wheel

Handed over a machine – the loom

That never demands any fuel

That never spills smoke

That is the appreciation of a genius

He who attaches an engine to the looms

Will be a millionaire

With corns and black marks, the hands,

That created a volley of tools

From the furnace one by one

The axe, the plough, crow bar

A sickle a plough share and a chisel

The chisel was born for the art

And the crags had the grace

The hard worker is the creator of the tool

That makes the stones speak

The owner of the factory, the businessman

Loots the tools

The experience of

Rolling animals on the sticks

Turned into a wheel

 Made a vehicle move

To bring out a wheel that outshines

The wheel of the cart

Mixing hair in the mud

Prepared a potters wheel

That potter’s wheel is the basis of all machinery wheels

Where is the patent right to the potter now on machines?