Put your words to your meanings
put your meanings to your senses
put your senses to nonsenses

What proves the mists of delusions
in tarnished tandem with malice
what gains myths of fulcrum gainsays
in the passionless kisses of cobras
what are hymns to mud shrines effigies

Put your senses to your  nonsenses
put your nonsenses at one with onyxes
put your effluents right up your orifices

I barely remember,
When we get together?
How it start?
Did you just get inside?

Maybe I was expecting your arrive
I don’t know, I might be losing my mind
Whatever it was, it’s a fact that you came
And without a word you stay

We didn’t had a night
But thousands of mornings instead
Then I name you my spring
Like the one that Botticelli paint

You became my muse
You were my truth
And even when you left
You remain in my heart

What should I do now that you’re gone?
I’m growing old
And suddenly there’s no more words to describe
All the goodness you are

What should I said?
I never told you “stay”
Until now that you’re not the same
It's a shame, I guess

And who I am?
If not a fool with a worthless claim?
‘Cause even if I need you every day
There’s nothing for what to cry

When you walked away
You didn’t know
All the nonsenses I can’t shut up anymore
Words that would have meant before.

In the fickle floccules whimsical of inherent stunted minds
where delusions drive Ferraris' and the gilded are servants
if their hate stop painting pictures of doom rack and ruins
tis known they are just mere inferior mediocre observant

Like moths to flames reeking talentless blow hollow winds
losers no-marks spewing nonsenses under stones like ants
mundane journeymen and maiden oiks alongside philistines
the letdowns in low downs craving distractions with slants

No worthy or good comes from insignificants on the grinds
lacking wit or grace they faff and prattle as modern peasants
their job is hate and in searing jealousy they dribble unrefined
the pitiful community of lesser beings in malice conversance:

Messrs Thimbles et Karens
are we too simple to know the difference
between the home-grown hommies
who you mark
from day one and scoop out their brains
leaving them as the dog beside the gramophone
listening to their Traders voices
stabbing and killing each-others as Traders plant and sow seeds
to divide, destabilize, disorganize and rule
this here ain't no home-grown
not bred to sit by your distorted archaic disreputable gramophones to jive to the ranting nonsenses of nonsensically wet Frosties
my ancestors rule towns
my siblings are men and women of letters with laurels
I was born in a free Nation
and wrapped in loving velvet
I was raised proper and I do proper things properly
I am not one of the tools variety
thimbles and Karens are tools who handle other tools
what's there about them not already known
what's there to overthink






As guest editor on BBC Radio 4's Today programme, Sterling sat down to talk with Three Lions boss Southgate.

Asked by his manager what advice he would have said to himself when he was 19, the 27-year-old said: "Come off social media, don't read anything about yourself.

"When I first came into the team, I was getting man of the matches.

"It was all nice - I was playing for England and really excited about that stuff.


"And then one thing happens and it's constant bad, bad, negative, negative.

"When you're putting this information into your brain, there's only way you're going to react.
"You're going to feel down about yourself, you're going to start overthinking. The one thing you don't want your brain to do as a human being - not just a footballer - is to overthink.

"I'd say stay away from looking at anything in regards to myself."

Sterling, Danny Rose and Callum Hudson-Odoi were racially abused by Montenegro fans in March 2019.

Without a doubt they can not stand up to scrutiny
mediocre with hang-ups and deep insecurities
in epic self-loathing they know all about their indignity
and in crazed union they share their similarities
to launch the society of disgruntle haters with no integrity
where they all rile and wallow in depravities
for them their solace and fulfilment comes from negativity
hail our nonentities with worthless proclivities
worry not all this is beyond their nonsenses and sensibility

Friday afternoon and the weather was so fine, pink "cotton-candy-like" clouds perfectly dispersed over the bluest sky above us.
Nothing but the whimsical tune of the wind, the melodic songs of the birds and the lost-like buzz of the bees succeeded to make us feel that we were already far from chaos, far from toxicities, and far from the nonsenses of the human world.
Tantalizing like her eyes, the oceans borrowed light from the disappearing Sun that it sparkled like a million of tiny floating diamonds.
Happy, careless and free, we wandered along the tall happy-waving grass and at the cliff-side of the mountain she stopped. She stood right in front of me, she was facing the whole city as the Sun lit her long and wavy hair that it amazingly turned into "pink-red with a few of orange" colour.
Out of her busy-ness staring at the mountain shaped like crocodile, I was there at her back picking some wild flowers while staring at her; smiling, secretly admiring her beauty, yearning I could somehow dive and let myself drown into the cascade of the mystery of her thoughts.
Feeling lost and overjoyed, I threw some of the wild flowers into the thin air and watched it slowly fell freely over the top of my head down into the lonely side of my left toe; it artistically scattered below me, mimes a lost treasure like a boxes of golden key.
Considering the fact that time isn't a friend, and I never really wanted to let go of that moment, I took a photograph of her- standing still with her head gazed up high, her hair's twirling along with the rhythm of the wind whilst her hands clenched unto the corners of her waist- where in that moment I thought would last forever, if only it would last forever, if only I could grasp that moment more longer, and longer, hoping it ends no more.

Overwhelmed by his brilliance
in reluctant admiration and acceptance
they spat out their distasteful putdowns and criticisms
it all overwhelms as they are overwhelmed again and again
by their glaring inferiority
they boil and redden alarmingly
tepidly searching their negative backward minds
looking for disparages and and asinine discontinuance
from their pantries of ******* nonsenses and festering bullshite
to drown out their limitations
for the differences are unassailable
the genuine might of the refined and erudite mind
to the narrow infected musings of uncouth semi-illiterates
the social inadequate muzhiks on the defensive resorts to type
and hauls manure in words
Overwhelmed by the man and his brilliance
its the only recourse of the crude defeated outshone clots
tellingly the more stringent the condemnation from dull paysans
the higher the admiration of the esteemed man that touched their raw
and sensitive bleeding nerves

In pearly sham and shame
lets fester in the aberration of corruption
in our visage of our cultured banana Republic

In blind and broken minds
lets luxuriate in the odious mentalities
of red necks and inbreeds from the deep South

In pathetic clamorous files
lets milk irrationality and loutishness
and our vandals and barbarians plunge the depths

In mental retardations
lets display our renowned ignorance
as we marry vituperous nonsenses and disgraced guilt

In narcissistic demeaning's
lets reveal pains envy inadequacies and hate
the malaise that afflicts and governs our deranged selves

And in inherent insignificance
let us like the poor man's Don Quixote
find power in illusions and raving delusions
and fight air psyche warfare against Princes from Africanus
we, after all are lowly insignificant cannon fodders in our society

He was a quiet gentle man
not known to swarm around with friends
these types are usually pampered softies
the thieves and their street gang posse thought
once we put the squeeze on him he will soon scamper
no big deal, we'll sort him out sharpish

so Chris the mother crook said
we are going to put nits in your head
Joanne the mad daughter said
we will bug your head
even the wife warned
they are going to do your head in

then the thugs and hooligans said
we are going to drive you paranoid
now if they were smart they should
have stayed shtum and retain the element of surprise
but hey, to them this was going to be short
sure the man can last a year

what a joke semi-illiterate playing trick or treat
gas-lighting by simpletons and dolts
bulky laden transparent grape-vines
inane crude antics by boring twarts
countless nonsenses by nonsensical dross
so contemptible as to be laughable

what's there to be paranoid about
I've not stolen nothing nor harmed anyone
I can stand up to close scrutiny and I do
the lies smears and slanders are lies smears and slander
I can look anyone dead straight in the eyes
and let the maddened crowd craw and make their dramas
I am still here and my head is not done in

Overwhelmed by his brilliance
in reluctant admiration and acceptance
they spat out their distasteful putdowns and criticisms
it all overwhelms as they are overwhelmed again and again
by their glaring inferiority
they boil and redden alarmingly
tepidly searching their negative backward minds
looking for disparages and and asinine discontinuance
from their pantries of ******* nonsenses and festering bullshite
to drown out their limitations
for the differences are unassailable
the genuine might of the refined and erudite mind
to the narrow infected musings of uncouth semi-illiterates
the social inadequate muzhiks on the defensive resorts to type
and hauls manure in words
Overwhelmed by the man and his brilliance
its the only recourse of the crude defeated outshone clots
tellingly the more stringent the condemnation from dull paysans
the higher the admiration of the esteemed man that touched their raw
and sensitive bleeding nerves