Rupee

In quiet pockets of a bustling bazaar,
A rupee slips through fingers, cool and thin,
Its copper‑kissed face recalls old empires’ stare,
While notes of saffron whisper dreams within.

From Mughal mint to modern mart it roams,
A silent traveller in silk and steel,
Each coin a story, every note a home
For hopes that trade and tender hearts conceal.

So let the rupee dance in market’s hum,
A modest monarch of the everyday—
In Britain’s tongue we spell its quiet sum,
And honour worth in sterling’s gentle sway.