Money By R.Krishnamurthy
Money takes wings
In my hands
It vanishes like vapor
Before I note the figure
Money slips
Through my fingers
Like water through a sieve
Before I feel a leaf
My pocket has a hole
It seems
My wallet has a soul
It deems
I wanted to be a millionaire
Then I wanted to be a miser
But does it really matter
If you turn a philosopher.