Whose signature? Signature of silence, we are discussing here. Silence too puts its signature, and it can be seen writ large encompassing a larger tract. How signature of silence, have you marked? Silence, outer silence, inner silence, how to correlate them, disseminate?

How does she sign it? How are the initials? Does silence sign it somewhere? How is the signature of it? Do you know it? Now-a-days we know it that signature is an art and for to be stylistic, vary you not please your signature otherwise you will not get the cheque cashed if your specimen signatures match not the previously submitted signatures. Sign you not differently at variance with your specimen signature. But say you in response to, style is man and art is stylistic.

A storm rages in the desert of the heart lifting the layer of lamentation and with that it does not end it here. There in the underneath of that a larger layer of recrimination appears on followed by the cold crust of deprivation. Layer by layer things get shredded to drip through the stream of eyes allowing silence to put the signature softly on a blank sheet of canvas.

Shiela applying the artistic flair and fascination has penned down the poetry of silence. Poetry emanating from silence has a beauty of own. The heart is the center of all. Maintaining your mental calm, try to eke out something with an aim to create and recreate. After the raging of the storm, the silence, how does it appear to be? Forget you your regret and lamentation, your pain and pine, trouble and tribulation as this is life and here the things take place and there is nothing here permanent, everything but shaky and unstable and impressions and sensations keep making graphic images otherwise the things are not what they seem.

A storm raged
in the desert of a heart
lifting a layer of lamentation.
Underneath appeared
a larger layer
of recrimination
followed by the cold crust
of deprivation.
Layer by layer
they were all shredded
and dripped through
the stream of eyes
till the signature of silence
settled softly
on the blank canvas
of that same heart.