A Dime
/In the palm of my hand, a coin so old,
Passed down through ages, its story yet untold.
I gaze upon its weathered face, so wise,
A relic from the past, a humble guise.
This coin, older than my fleeting youth,
Whispers secrets of lives lived, of truth.
Once, it held value beyond my dreams,
To a farmer, a laborer, or so it seems.
Years ago, its worth would shine so bright,
A humble dime, a treasure in their sight.
For the poor and downtrodden it could feed,
Their daily earnings, a symbol of their need.
Yet now, in my hands, it feels less dear,
Its value diminished, it's crystal clear.
I'd care not if it slipped from my grasp,
But a thought stirs within, a moment to clasp.
Someone, long ago, held this coin so tight,
For them, it was a beacon in the night.
Their sweat and toil engraved upon its face,
A testament to their struggles, a silent trace.
So now, I gaze upon this coin with respect,
A tribute to those who've earned and kept,
Their hopes and dreams, their hard-earned plight,
Embedded in this coin, a reminder in my sight.
In my pocket, it shall find its home,
A cherished relic, no longer alone.
For it holds a story, a legacy so vast,
A humble coin's wisdom, a treasure that'll last.
By Deepthi Monteiro
From: India
Instagram: deepthimonteiro