Of bags that weigh a ton,

And trinkets that hold a smile.

Of muddied poignancies,

And grins that are worth a dime

Of parched turmoils,

And caustic nights, balmy when on mute.

Of mercurial words,

And sombre steps

Of silences unbroken,

And hamartias errant

Of pauses too deep,

And thoughts, synaptic.

Of journeys that start,

And beginnings of an end

Of meter and rhyme,

And verses unsynchronised.

Of ink and paper,

And trials of a soul.

7 thoughts on “Synapse.

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