Onion Poem by Pankajam Kottarath

Peel after peel,
the pale onions, as I unpeel
jogging my recall to an epic tale
my eyes wear a wet veil
Now I can’t even let
their skin to leave.


As the wife of Pandavas,
was pulled and hauled,
de-robbed,
slandered in the open hall,
Lord Krishna heard her prayers
and rescued her.


I don’t know to which Lord to pray
to rescue the common man,
bring back the soaring prices
from the sky to the earth;
as they may abet their stake
in toppling the rulers,
in which currently
onions seem to have the last word.