“A writers mind is a battle you know nothing of. You read their words, their poetry, their compositions but believe it or not, as much as it may seem to be their minds on paper, it isn’t.
It is barely a figment of their thoughts.They have burnt a handful of paper before writing the final draft of the beautiful literature you read. You are in awe when you read their minds in ink while they are in turmoil to find the right words to express something chaotic and turn it into serenity. Behind the calm that you find in their poetry, there has been fought a fierce battle, words of blood has been shed, the world has been shut out for hours or days or months and the universe has been all over their mind. Writers inhale the deeds of the world and exhale poetry. Their poetry is an unveiling of the scars that never heal. The words they bend and mould into gems come from the toil and torment of a faceless poet in a crowd. They are amongst us, some of whom we know and some we don’t but thank goodness for them, they make the world beautiful with just ink and blood, fire and pages.”