Signs and Signals

entry picture


These fingers point at letters

Those letters point at words

And then the disturbance -



My love she was a vixen,

She howled in the night,

Those feelings they just left me -

Despite them being right.


This mourning just continues,

Throughout decades, in a line,

My lover she engages me -

In time.


Those swirling skies of fortune,

This lake's grey and white despair,

These suicides at sunrise -

Ethereal and rare. 


Semiotics is the science 

Of signs and portents too,

But even without language,

Blue would still be blue. 



◄ After reading the poetry of Rabindranath Tagore

Morning glory ►


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