This is the third poem in a series of poems that explore what the commonplace objects in a student’s life would say if they underwent an Enid Blyton-esque change overnight, and could speak. This one has been written in the form of a Limerick.
If my wallet could speak, it would whisper –
It has no hundred rupee notes sitting, crisper,
There are many five-hundreds, though,
And thousands, even more,
But mentions of both only leave it blistered.
