SYNESTHESIA

I had a bowl of biryani last nite.

The South Asians, they must have built the first temple of flavors, is what I thought;

What I thought as I unwrapped the assortment. 

An assortment of hearty flavors. 

Just as good for teasing eager taste buds, 

As it was for sweeping the insides of nasal pass-ways.

Biryani connects me to my Indian roots; 

Roots that I’ve both lost and found, that I have left behind in the past.

And that I hurry to meet in a distant time. 

The aromas and flavors of India are, to me, 

Likened to the fine crystals of the earth that activate our souls. 

The amethyst is both wild and refined: taking me on a ride into the northern alps, 

Seen through the iris and retina of a wild mountain goat. 

But it's that much more.

Such is the sensation of INDIA and her lofty promises of adventure and synesthesia.

In a hallway abounding with India’s Aromas, the Titan and the Farmer, 

They meet, they greet, they sit down as equals, and eat.