Sort to re sort,


The world of tommorow

sent me a letter,

It told me,

Don’t ever be

so bold.

Don’t ever be


Don’t ever be


Because it told me its not even here to begin with.

As it ebbs,


As my word is a fallacy unto myself,

As my written hand never stops,

thus an outlet that becomes my character.

It isnt,

it became as my mantra,

it became a word from me of plural days,

that comes and goes,

and yes poets are of the sort,

sometimes but not as much. . .

Hypocrites of ourselves.

Into my encampment. . .


i rage and bellow,

coz of my bitterness.

I violently shake and shook

of my hatred.

Yet if I do try the best of my calmness,

then maybe.

But if I am still then i can be released

from all of this.

The betrayal of the note.


In my adagio, i became a turtle.

In the diminuedo of things to be, i flew as a butterfly.

At the height of my staccato, as erratic as ever.

Then i crashed upon that crescendo, I bellowed as i screamed to the stars asking,

“why do I. . . . . “

Storm cometh


I faced my storm,

It took me places,

It dragged me to the stars and back.

Its mercy raw,

Its power indefinte,

It claimed me,

In the end,

I was and will never be in that storm again.

coz it told me,

“I am you,

you are me,

Dont you forget,

your life,

is never what it seems,

just to know to take it as it is.

Then you know,

what is the real

storm and the fury of me,


I am you,

you are me.”

What I will always, . .


need to know that which people,

far flung from the depths of their convulsions, intuitions

and i do love their assumptions and presumptious ways.

In that way, in their defence

its them not me.

I know coz,

I believe and need my wants

to see that,

I am myself

to know myself that

I can always trust no on3,

rather give it to the one

than me.


@rtsydhude En Masse Dise-Sais.