The poet

 Poetry is a medium for the expression of truth, love, peace, joy, one’s deep pain, hope and dreams. It’s never meant for conveying falsehoods. Falsehoods can be sustained to an extent through prose by going into logical arguments. It comes from the smaller self, the insecure animal trying to survive. But poetry comes from the bigger self; from the soul and its representative, heart. It bypasses the mind. If one conveys falsehoods through poetry that’ll be mere prose written in rhyme.

As the insecure minds unleash wars world over, a poet will keep praying and hope that a soft bud of peace starts to open as the war hysteria touches its peak and would inevitably slide down onwards. Then will bloom a small fragrant flower somewhere among the charms of highland mists.