— Kalyan Kumar Dutta
VKV Kharsang
Money takes its different form
In every place a new norm.
In marriage it’s a dowry’s claim
A shadowed exchange, a hidden shame.
In divorce it becomes alimony
Parting ways, a costly irony.
In temples it’s given as donation
An offering of hope, a pure intention.
In school it’s paid as the student’s fee
The price for learning the future’s key.
In courts, it’s a burden known as fine
For wrongs committed, a costly line.
To the government it turns to tax
A share of wealth to fix the cracks.
To workers it’s earned as salary
The fruit of toil, a dignified victory.
In shadows dark it’s called ransom
A force of fear, freedom seldom.
From hands to hands it changes face
In every form it leaves its trace.
But money’s worth can we define?
A fleeting measure, a tangled line.
It builds, it breaks, it heals, it blinds
Yet in the heart true wealth one finds.
