Money makes me think...

Money makes me think.

Always!

Money makes me think of the stray and the pet dogs.

Money makes me think of the caged and the free birds.

Money makes me think of the thick and the thin walls.

Money makes me think of the kiosk and the cafes.

Money makes me think of the boundaries.

I know how sacred a penny is.

It rationalises everything,

It makes good.

But like nature's call,

It turns out to be bad.

We all must be beware of money.

It makes us helplessly strong,

Or sometimes strongly helpless.

I remember a bounded terrace and an unbounded one too.

Bounded kept me safe and coward,

But unbounded gave me fear and nerve to live it.

Money buys rice but not the chaff,

But chaff exists.

I wonder why?

If money can't afford a buy.

Money is a room.

Dense room of accessories but not the sky.

Money is a broom,

Cleaning a lot in wry.

Money is a sage,

A giver.

And a blasphemy to some,

And shiver.

A soul tether,

And a quiver.

It brings in light in a room,

With hearts all gloom.

It buys a book,

And keeps the message hidden.

Money stands alone in the cupboard or lockers or tables.

Sometimes in pockets and packets.

But never loses its essence.

We made money,

And we made money the God.

The God of everything and everyone.

We made it sit on the throne and we gave it a bow.

We cry when it leaves,

We cry when it gives us zero heeds.

To my lawful wedded wife,

It's necessary or a baby naive.

Money makes me think of freedom.

Money makes me think of the odds.

Money keeps me awake.

I wake on the thought of having it and then I keep myself awake on the occasion of having it and keeping it safe.

I remember when I didn't have a penny in my hand and just sweat,

And thereafter all that sustained was a mind fret.

In my childhood it made me think of the reason for its importance,

I did think it once that I must have a cupboard full of money so that whenever I feel like having a loaf of bread or a packet of Maggi I must not beg for alms.

See,

I am no more into liking bread and Maggi but I like something that I cannot justify but I try to keep it simple and sober that I need money.

Money keeps me anxious, and sometimes I get anxiety attacks.

Money gives me sleepless happy strokes.

I live in bungalows dreaming of huts and a brook and sleek roads.

I walk on cemented pavements and miss the penniless mud shoulders.

While walking on the feathers money makes me think of the blood on the stones.

Money keeps me deadly alive.

I wanted to ask the metal and the paper,

Why?

But I know it would shudder in pockets and make me realize that I am the one who created it and then got dependent on it.

Money makes me think how I want to read books and they cost high,

Money makes me think how I crave for good food but glassed showrooms alarm me on their rates.

Money makes me think of the fabric we wear.

Money makes me think of the waterproof paints.

Money makes me think of the barren land and hybrid seeds.

Money makes me think of Hiraeth.

I miss nothingness.