Mock Epic: The Tragedy Of The Unsalted Feast Poem by ashok jadhav

Sing, O Pot, once brimming with promise and delight,
Of Heroes who gathered for a feast divine,
Only to face the cruel, invisible enemy: Missing Salt,
That humble mineral, yet mighty as Olympus itself.
Behold the Mortal, ladle in hand,
Tasting broth, stew, and roasted meats in despair.
The aroma rises, golden and inviting,
Yet on the tongue, a barren, flavorless void.
Seasoning, that silent ally of mortal kitchens,
Has abandoned the battlefield, leaving heroes bereft.
Allies murmur, forks clatter like swords,
Eyes dart to the empty salt shaker, now a relic of tragedy.
Desperate hands scour cupboards, cabinets, and pantry,
Seeking the granules that might restore hope and glory.
The Soup, noble and proud, simmers in vain,
Meats glisten like trophies, vegetables bow in sorrow,
Yet every bite tastes of disappointment,
And even Wine mourns its companion, Flavor, lost.
The Hero improvises, summoning spices, herbs, and courage,
A pinch of this, a dash of that, a valiant attempt,
But the sacred salt, elemental and unmatched,
Remains absent, a silent deity of lost delight.
Thus ends the epic of the Unsalted Feast,
Where mortals learned the value of tiny granules,
And every ruined meal became legend,
A warning to Heroes: no banquet is complete
Without the simple might of Salt, humble yet divine.