The Salt

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Before the gleam of gold was sought,
Before the rise of kingdoms wrought,
Before the silken threads unfurled,
There was salt, the wealth of the world.

On sun-baked shores, where brine did sting,
Sweat-soaked hands, their burdens bring.
In dark mines deep, where shadows creep,
A silent toll, the workers weep.

A trace of sweat, a miner's plight,
Drawn from the earth, in dim lamplight.
Across the deserts, windswept, bare,
Borne on backs with weary care.
Through crashing waves, on ships it sailed,
A precious cargo, never failed
To shape our lives, our hungry need,
A vital essence, sown like seed.

White gold it gleamed in ages past,
On ancient roads, its worth amassed.
For salt, great empires rose and fell,
A silent story it could tell.

Salt of the Earth, where toil resides,
In every crystal, labour hides.
Not just to flavour, sharp and bright,
But earned through struggle, day and night.
Like life itself, a winding track,
Salt bears the strain upon its back.

For hungry mouths, a saviour small,
To make plain fare taste good to all.
In every grain, a silent plea,
A hope for days that might be free.

In rituals old, its presence known,
A taste of earth, distinctly shown.
"Salt of the Earth," a virtue praised,
In simple hearts, its worth appraised.

In times of famine, spirits low,
Salt, a reward for seeds to sow.
It healed the wounds of weary hands,
Bound communities in harsh lands.
Made journeys through the sun's fierce glare,
Connecting lives with burdens shared.

Let it be vast, this earned domain,
Not just consumed, a fleeting gain.
It holds the power of the hand,
Uniting all across the land.

Salt in the tears the worker shed,
Salt in the joy when hunger fled.
It walked with those whose strength was drained,
Led those who strove, whose purpose reigned.

Gandhi marched, for freedom's taste,
But in that salt, no time to waste,
Was more than freedom's potent sign,
The fruit of labour, truly thine.
A link to hardship, bravely faced,
A future built, on efforts placed.

Let it be vast – the honest yield,
In friendships forged on common field,
In meals we share, where hands have strived,
In love sustained, where worth survived.
In simple acts of giving might,
In kindness born of day and night.

It paid the hire, the promised due,
"Salary" – from labour, strong and true.
It built the markets, town by town,
And taught respect, without a crown.

Salt in the wound, salt in the eyes,
A lesson learned beneath hard skies.
A simple truth the ages spin,
Where cause exists, effect will win.
Without this trace of what we give,
Our hearts and souls would cease to live.
With it, a richness, deep and wide,
The earned reward, our strength and pride.

For salt is life, a taste so deep,
Where countless human stories sleep.
The bitter toil, the sweet release,
Through generations, finding peace

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