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Poesophies has betrayed the individualism of poetry. Spilling blood (ink) sparingly, it touches with a scalpel’s precision on age-long issues in such way that willing minds will soak it up with gauzy-ease.
It is for 'poets' who may not comprehend anything except through poetry, like soldiers who cannot know music except through the rhythms of gunshots. Really, beyond metaphor, sometimes poetry can be engineering, medicine or battlegrounds; but a poet is always human.
The poems here look at the deepest motives behind what humans do (knowingly or unknowingly). They show how we search for things endlessly as we are pushed by unseen forces. The book speaks on comfort and consolation even in the face of what looks like loss. It talks of nature and importantly, peace in oneself and relationships with others.