Synaesthesia

A Poem by Satish Verma

Synaesthesia

Amygdala gives you
space. Rage implodes.
Hottest day gives a blast.

Burn, burn, O leaky
night. You suck the moon
with dust. Language
slips.

How will you invite
rains, without nightingale,
who had left for a
quantum revenge?

Visuals haunt. Ash
will fly. An old touch comes
back. Everything looks blue.

I start collecting old coins.