In womb of Earth, in silence slept, A metal dark, the ages kept. No gold’s allure, nor silver’s gleam, Yet Iron woke the human dream. Not soft as song, nor pure as prayer, But forged in flame and tempered air. It bore the blade, it crowned the kings, It formed the heart of mightier things. From plow to sword, from chain to wheel, In Iron’s hands, the fates would kneel. Empires rose on Iron’s breath, And fell beneath its song of death. The Roman roads, the Spartan spear, The knightly helm, the engineer- Each bore the soul of Earth’s dark bone, A gift no age could claim alone. The chariots that Mahabharata roared, The Gupta pillars, strength outpoured. The Wootz steel, a legend’s might, That armed the brave in ancient fight. The iron fist of Mauryan might, That carved an empire, day and night. The Wootz so keen, a deadly art, That played a warrior’s vital part. The blacksmith’s anvil cracked like thunder, As sparks of war split peace asunder. Yet Iron turned, in time,...
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