63. Katana (63)

Shimano of West Japan, the home for the Gods and the soldier clan,
Within a crucible of fire under a shadows of leaves,
The iron furnace, the Tatara bleeds...
Three meters long, a meter wide, one meter high, two is the sky;
Within the base, air inlets have been formed, Tweeas stretch only starboard...
Twenty-six centimetres from the floor, no more no-less...
The Master will watch three days and nights as quest.
Temperatures are constant, until the shadows dawn,
Iron-sand is of pure delight, no Sulphur, Phosphorus to ignore...
Or end up with just the brittle to score.
Ancient spirits emerge their eyes upon the Master's grace,
The carbon-sand, the charcoal dance to form the new steel, within the trace....
The furnace smelts ready to mate.
Within the fire, tamahagane steel is formed,
Within an hour the iron suds fall, defeated on the bed of fire
It's colour tamahaganay, not too hot, not too cold,
Not fully molten, it is bold.
Remaining chemical, physical, it's essence remains,
The recipe, towards the perfect ways....
Carbon retained to protect the blade, to cut the air and to slay the main.
No dent, nor scratch will it retain, the allure and essence, it will remain...
It's body is ductile, hard to touch, flexible, fast one can hear the woosh!
A thousand degree Celsius, hard steel, soft iron, Bi Metallic is much.
Day two, is eaten twenty-six tons or more...
Iron-sand and charcoal, like many sons before.
The alchomist spirit feeds it's flows once more....
Digesting the essence, creating the internal soul.
Like the dragon's breath; the master it hears,
From a prayer to the deity; the Master declares!
Tired, exhausted, history is seen,
The Tatara is broken for all to see.
The Tamahagane has been born this day....
Observing the shadows, the glint silver is the way,
The edges it's sound combination is real
Three months or more, three men to trail,
Hammer and beating flat, recourse,
Carbonisation is an important resource...
Cover in paper, clay and ash,
No oxygen or the process will clash.
Heating the metal with bellows afloat,
One hundred and thirteen degrees heat, to stoke,
Before the blow and then to repeat...
The steel ingot to blending pieces to neat,
Perlite and Ferrite converting lamellar ,
Tempering the blade Martensite hot precipitation, like Jello...
Hammer and anvil sing to the same.
Folding over and over and again and again...
Taking hours out of days to meet the grade,
The heart, the sound, the heat, the waves,
The colour, the carbon at naught seven percent.
Each blow are numerous, as they repent.
Memories and skills envelop the brow,
The Ancients, the Warriors, the Spirits indwell,
The ear of the Master awaits for the tone,
A dozen folds, five thousand layers or more so and so...
Concentrates one centimeter of steel of blaze
They are seen as the Yehuda, the trail stays...
The metal block and Key enlightens the throne,
The processes of normalising and annealing has come home...
Wet clay slurry, ash carbons is discreet.
The Austenite phase to the Matensite stage,
Immersing in water to quench, this phase.
Adding the edge with a fine grinding glaze,
One polishing the allure the imprinted desire…
A period of time, three weeks or more or later.
The Hamon eight hundred degrees low crack
Hardened, red rising, Sun quenched is fact
It's distinctive, a signature revealed intact.
The Katana, definition the beauty behold,
The Master adds a Guard the Hilt, the Pommel and dwells…
Reflecting the light of the Masters soul,
The embers of the heat of red white gold.
Reflects like a mirror of cold silver glaze,
Koto, Daisho awaits...
The blade facing up ready to track.
For the brave wise warrior awaits the rack…
To embrace the oiled, the powdered and the Master polished extract
The Yazula Stone, the whitening blade as a final embrace
The tip of the sword is the eyes of the world
Presented for battle and honours for all.
In time of age, the warrior dawns...
The katana legacy, passes the sun to the ground,
Before the spirit of the warrior is just a frown.
The rebirth to the worthy son with honour abound.