My grandfather’s old almirah
today spilled out
a pouch of old coins at least
as old as my childhood.
The 10 paise coins
whose wavy contours
like the ebb and flow of a dream
I would trace as a child,
and then within it trace
its smaller likeness, the 2 paise coin
juvenile flowery dreams within dreams.
20 paise coins
and their unsuspected hexagonal-edged
lessons in geometry.
5 paise coins
with the curve of the ‘5’ like a hook
caught by the
coin’s fish-shaped soft diamond.
These coins that have
long since been swallowed by a hungry economy
are today that strange thing
uncurrent currency.
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