"bellicose" poems
I love my country: India , but
I hate many of its rulers, as
they speak for the poor and
act for tycoons bellicose, and-
Diversity sighs in armed Unity;
The selfish corrupted in unity
March ahead on graves crafty.
I love my country: India , but
August fifteenth : with freedom,
opened all devilish forces
out of Hell to fell all virtues.
Grim faced Buddha smiles
Like a nuclear Phantom ,his
tears drip on tomb of Peace.
No white dove sits on dome
It bleeds in the lap of Buddha.
If birth is the cause of gloom.
who stops one from bloom?
Dearth of berth clamour for
Death of birth at the womb.
I love my country: India , but
Souls are free on lovely Earth
Lay bodies strain to survive.
A nominal word equanimity
Gushes in landslide infirmity.
Service becomes self –service,
In black ink sleeps Socialism.
Fear Neurosis like King Kamsa
Keeps Liberty behind the bars.
Healthy, wealthy Bharat Matha
Groans in labour room for Santi.
Note: 1). August fifteenth= 15 August 1947 when India became free from Briton. 2).Buddha=Gutham Buddha(Prince Sidhardha) who established Buddhism.3).Kamsa= The mythological character , uncle of Lord Krishna who chained even his sister Devaki out of the fear psychosis. 4),Bharat Matha= Indians consider Bharat/India as their Mother(Matha)-so it is Mother land not Fatherland for them .Santi/Shanti=a Sanskrit word used in Vedas and Upanishads of India which means Peace or Islam.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 10:08 AM UTC
Forever neglected
Forever dismayed
Forever deafened
By the cacophony of the trade
The antiquated digger stands by
A sentient guard of the worker
It watches as the tree slowly dissipates
Its life slowly crumbling
As the voracious chipper
Devours the tree whole
The worker stands by
The digger stands by
The chipper chips away
The taciturn worker remains
Ruminating the existence of the world.
Why was he put here?
For what reason must he stay with these hallowed construction tools?
Do they feel any remorse for the change that they've enacted
On the world around them?
Are they aware that they transgress the laws of nature?
The bellicose chipper
Wages war with nature
As the people watch so distantly.
Its sound makes the neighbors quite belligerent
Yet the zealots watch attentively.
The pure ignorance
The pure neglect
The blatant apathy
Is something to be seen.
Whatever could possess you
To follow in the footsteps of the worker
To feel his pain as the trimmer
Chips away at the trees' centuries
The sound of shattered glass
Punctuates the air.
Perhaps there has been an accident.
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 9:33 PM UTC
Gold and silver battle *****
torn from swords saddles and crosses
lying beneath a farmer's field
tributes to kings and bellicose gods.
Fierce birds of prey snakes fish and bears
framed in filigree geometry
guarded warriors' savage souls.
No mercy in Mercia.
Archeologists anthropologists
historians librarians
curators and consertvators
collect confer and classify
while I just try to connect.
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 6:19 AM UTC
There are the two choices. Wicked, wheel-men curving towards that which I wear in the evening when I paint on my black suit. The pitter-patter of organic matter, the Metropolis ground fresh. You tell me raspberry, I tell you I am not impressed. And then from the inimical lips, those bards from distance, sand spots and hordes of watering holes I place fresh Republicans on- and they were stealing the magazines.
Jury on.
Four devils they figure some, four devils. A anthelmintic potion to square away the worms. The pink worm, who takes long-distance telephone calls on your roommates only moments before the red worm, his head shriveled and his limbs crying from ****** she the blue curly worm; she is what we've been looking out and everything about this evening has slipped in the pattern we expected. Red light in fact,
They used the concatenations of frog legs(this was the big deal since My Mother loved the chelura of some tropical varieties of frogs and funny-legged), banjax the first one before the weather catches the summary being the news. Going as far as the the ecstasy of officials leaving the scene. The species catching its last names of life- genus and family alike racing towards safety.
And so I build in the fly zone. I haggle for President, and make sacred the realms of figures; denaturalized are the entanglements of humans, even whatever the mephitic and bellicose shadows shend and fordo their greatest powers.
I lull and lust, my pugnacious frazil, just like my recalcitrant logomachy that I ****** and slide angrily and profusely with m and everything I try to do. Just so long as you can see me usufruct and lobby forthright the message.
Mine. Hate. Anxiety.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:06 AM UTC
Rush around in circles like a headless chicken running
Diminishing to spirals in a blue encircled churn
Giddying to balance in unsteady equilibrium,
Whilst canting to the left on a gyroscopic turn.
Vaulting to the heavens in gymnastical maneuvering,
Launching into ether in fanatical escape,
****** features grimacing through muscular contortion
With abdominal contractions in a pantomime of ****
Yowling to the darkness in a feline form of vocalness
Hissing through the teeth in a serpentine display,
Bellowing the bellicose of bovine innuendo
And bleeding feet in gumboots on a ****** raining day.
Rush around in circles like a headless chicken running
With ****** features grimaced on a ****** raining day,
Yowling to the darkness with abdominal contraction
In a bovine innuendo of a serpentine display.
Bellowing the bellicose of bleeding feet in gumboots,
Vaulting to the heavens in fanatical escape,
Giddying to spirals in contracting equilibrium
Just a ****** innuendo of a gyroscopic shake.
Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
On a ****** raining day.
7 August 2010
Aug 6, 2010
Aug 6, 2010 at 6:17 PM UTC
Bellicose angels chanter,"Never
Was and never more," upon
The totian breeze with clarity of peace;
A peregrine requitement of
Effulgent obsequies, tempered
With melancholy tortuously
Fetching lost codices whilst
Careening stars-of-Bethlehem
Nonchalantly whithersoever,
A parable of presence
A dirge paramount; perdurable
To the transcription of the
Orderliness Of Orcus'- unabridged,
The final heavenly sonnet.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 8:31 AM UTC
Arcane rumblings bellow out from the infrastructure.
The secrets swell out from the wealthy infidels. Their water has broken.
The top-hat henchmen gather their whiskers.
Stuttering shock and leaking their whispers,
vulcan-loud.
The wise old casualties know all of what’s to come,
so they pack their sacks with their old guns
to fortify their army of one.
The news skips the billions of ignorant families
condemning daughters and sons to an army of none.
The first bullets abandon their barrels,
the kick-off to pain, from poise.
Eager to byte flesh, fur, faith,
eager to make some godawful noise.
The following blasts are a metallic symphony
Quickly looming, swooning,
booming into cacophony
in shrill-major.
Blood spatters pavement, under marching feet,
is dragged, looped about the streets in a homicide calligraphy,
paralyzing the squinting mercenaries.
Out come the canons,
dancing on their wheels,
silencing the gunfire,
spinning on their heels,
dissenting the sonata with rifle-explosion accompaniment.
Warrior sighs greet the late auxiliary:
armadas sing in baritone
while civilians scream soprano.
Children cry in alto.
Blood flows in legato.
Today some of us will die
so that the rest will open their eyes
to an oversky, cloud-bloated with lies.
While down below we blaze away our requiem.
And by the hand of this same melody we die.
Here lies humanity,
fashioning,
always,
a bellicose smile.
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 10:55 AM UTC
Among addictions and vice
there are none I want more
than an addiction to the sunrise,
a vice most forgiving.
The taste of alcohol,
inciting the bellicose beast
cannot satisfy me,
and I have tried.
As for pleasure,
the kind that makes skin crawl
and the breath heavy,
needs more than itself to satisfy,
so I searched on.
Chalices of wine and paper smoke,
skin and bedrooms bathed in moonlight,
the allure of quick satisfaction
could not satiate my thirst.
Only one scene has been constant,
delivering me from my vices,
partner of the morning skies,
far from tinctures and tonics,
the sunrise.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 6:43 AM UTC
Vibrant antebellum
In the city streets saturates the air
And pulls the attention of children
From the gutters everywhere
Aftermath, aftershock, after the end
Syndrome X inside a plastic cup
Bellicose cries from bleeding sores of media
Shrouded with burqa shadows as a necessary anesthesia
Where is the city and where is the state?
Invisible numbers counted with ink stained thumbs
Delicate piano sound, pale girl fingers
The scent of your fatigue still lingers
I’ve seen many beautiful things
One day, I’ll remember what they are
But for now their faces are stretched like plastic bags
Bound to tear at the bottom and eventually sag
Apr 30, 2011
Apr 30, 2011 at 7:24 PM UTC
The white noise has direct interface
with the synapses in my brain
making ants sketch across my skin
in a drunken address.
Bellicose shadows raise their fists
and wrap me in flags of color
while merging into a large edifice
with a wide open mouth
and protruding nose.
Wrenching my feet from the baloney trap
go take a round of the mulberry bush
counting the pennies dropped on the ground
by the ones who crossed onward
with the ferryman on the boat.
Footprints on soft mud
thud like batons against a hard thigh
easy to miss but not to be dismissed
they are like camouflaged quarry
in a kept heap of rye.
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 1:41 PM UTC
YOU ARE:
Boorish and bellicose
Calamitous and caustic
Defamatory and dowdy
Garrulous and guileless
Insolent and irksome
Are you busy tonight?
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 8:16 PM UTC
Adroit minds are adamant about arcadian lives
Boorish minds are bellicose and baleful
Adroit and boorish minds must be abolished and banned
For they are dangerous minds
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 7:19 PM UTC
Hark the Kings of twilight sing
In strong discordant notes so clear
Not strangely, in some harmony,
When tenor tones caress the ear.
Discordant with a resonance
Both deep and bellicose with bass,
A vibrant tremor through the air
Creates sensation’s crest of grace.
And then a silent pause is felt
As soft violas fill the void
And build to carve a melody
Of pulsing rhythm so employed.
A cascade of exotic sound,
A riot fills the senses loud
And smiles of audience grow wide
As wonderment entrances crowd.
With golden light of setting sun
To purple-grey striated sky,
A swelling chorus lifts the song’s
Magnificence to place on high.
A brace of trumpets catch the light
As silver beauty fills the air,
The roll of tymphoni impacts
As plucked mass violin declare…
The cadence hangs in holy light
A breathless expectation nigh,
A soaring riff of brass and string
Brings grand finale to the sky….
A raging beauty fills the soul
The audience as one arise
To drown the theatre with applause
So raucous wild as to surprise!
The orchestra now take the bow
The proud conductor so defers...
For streams of sweat run down his back,
An ice cold beer he now deserves.
Marshalg
At the Auckland Symphonia
4 August 2012
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 3:30 PM UTC
Bellicose beer-belled bad-asses
Bawdily belting down brewskies
Usually, boozily, bruisily beating
On weaker, sleeker funseekers
In the bar where they are, far
From anything like maturity
Hip hip hooray for unhip USA.
Ballyhooing big screen viewing
Myopic eyes watch others exercise
Freedom-hating grouch on a couch
Itching, ******** psoriasis and sloth
Unread armchair Brother of the Cloth.
One of the minions of opinions,
Hardened against morality, reality.
Saying it every day: USA, USA, USA!
Hating, bating, aggravating, skating
Right past solutions, conclusions
Preferring propaganda, ***** Miranda,
Stop mollycoddling, bottling up anger
Christ in the manger should be law
But they guffaw at reading The Book;
They took their religion from TV.
Freedom for me, not thee, in my USA.
Got mine, ***** yours, rights immune;
That tune don’t play here. No queers
No browns, yellows, Hindus or Jews.
I’ve got news you can use, I abuse
And oppress guys in a dress, yes!
Even if he’s white, it still ain’t right.
The Constitution is old, it just teases.
Mine is Republican Jesus for the USA.
A pigeon for old time religion and God
Everyone else is odd. I saw the movie.
It was groovy and pretty. Went to the city
Saw it in Imax, no blacks in the theater
Thanks to The Creator that gave us all
The intelligence to call things right.
Hip hip hooray for being lily white.
Hip hip hooray for the KKK USA.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 3:47 PM UTC
Even my body
holds me
hostage-
Ribcage cell
barring
manic heart...
when walls won't
fall-
stoic fake brick facades
cling to
well-worn dive bar
foundations,
'Tis the bitter
finally cuts through-
slices past the
evergreen potency
of man-made
strength-
bellicose, forcing
its way in;
open up and
swallow-
tonic permeating
soulless through,
anchors to bottom
& crumbles youth.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC
Bedlam is our repletion, bellicose our rest,
For ever state which we call peace is war of constant test.
This war must share no allies - each warrior a martyr,
And it would stand that every soldier someone calls their daughter.
The instigator Terra, the perpetrator Yahweh,
Instant and perpetual - a bellum night and day.
The resource universal, from sea to ****** sea.
This war is fought o'er any man who might a bachelor be.
Civility and stupor the only neutral face they wear,
But underneath the plaster smile iniquity lies bare.
How cruelly do they cozen, how capricious they connive,
A thousand times more vicious than any man that seeks to wive.
And how they suffer sedulous, their bodies they contort
Into the most pernicious forms, a weapon of a sort:
They don the war paint, pluck the hair, admonish slightest error,
And take to wield those eyes of steel, and bless the world with terror.
Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 9:43 PM UTC
You carried the scent of a heavy summer rainfall with you
everywhere you went,
dropping hurricanes from your pockets for strangers
who have only known spring showers.
I didn’t know it was possible to fall in love with a storm.
Every time your cloudless eyes met mine
I felt a swell in the back of my throat,
as if I had drank too much seawater and you just kept staring
until I began to cough up the entire
Pacific Ocean.
You told me that this is what it meant to be with you,
to be with a nihilist.
You held other worlds on your fingertips
and slipped them under my tongue,
my blood becoming bellicose within it’s own veins.
The parabola of my pupils stretched until they became quasars,
I had never known energy like this before.
Your lips twitched into a most complacent grin at my lack
of self-possession as I writhed in the rapacious wake of the river.
Everything around me shimmered
with the light of 1,000 stars
and I heard centuries of music in your laughter.
I was a foreigner in a different world.
That night we made love with the intensity
of 50 lightning bolts striking an erupting volcano
and it was the first time you told me you loved me.
It was the only time you meant it.
We anesthetized each other so much
that you became insusceptible
while I became hypersensitive.
You carved kisses into my skin
and they were wonderful
but I was starting to bleed out.
But you couldn’t even feel my nails
as I tried to dig my way into your heart.
I had never wanted to live inside a person so badly,
but you can’t make homes out of people.
You can’t make homes out of addicts.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 10:46 PM UTC
Unstable rabble
ill in mind, body and soul
unfulfilled and desperately unhappy
fearful always, insecure, lacking and inadequate
skeletons in cupboards, shaming secrets hidden aplenty
false, fake, white-washed and all semblance soulless nonentities
vacuous sad pathetic weak and academically challenged majority
ignorant belligerent bellicose cowards, drunkards n mob shysters
rise, rise. rise
jump, jump. jump
do the twist n put the boot in
stand up and bellow
you can't loose your chains
your self loathing is too great
your shame and pains hurt all the time
you are reminded of your insignificance always
your helplessness and your weaknesses shames you
you always have to fake it, scrape, beg, borrow and steal
the aggrieved spectators as talents, wealth and the ritzy drive past
rise, rise, rise
jump, jump, jump
do the locomotion and spread the ****
scream and shout
hurl slander and lies
fight like cowards and bully
get badass and wicked and mean
get ****** angry and get ****** even
leave your bacon butties and fry the greedy pigs
forget your chips and come chip the brains of the tyrants hogs
put down those pints and lets keep this momentum of hate alive so
rise, rise, rise
jump, jump, jump
do the stoning and lets move like Jagger
Jun 23, 2019
Jun 23, 2019 at 3:47 AM UTC
Monday morning and here they wait
proffering their passports - pleasure cards
submitted to scanning for our next date.
Returning regular regards.
Brave Ben Hayes benign war hero
veteran of bellicose books
stalker of the cinema's front row
lover of library ladies' looks.
Miss Patterson reads the romantics
that free her from kindly caring
and meddling medical antics
that prevent her feelings flaring.
Finally here comes Francis
who craves crime and thriller novels
demented detectives dangerous dodges
devoted while the narrative unravels.
Then there's me. I'm normal.
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 11:15 AM UTC
We were the cusp of devastation
The bellicose swell of encroaching emotional tides
The slaves bound by opposing grip
Sealed within our very silence
With screaming eyes
Layered in film ripples, reflected responses
walking in reverse to the natural pull of the tilting magnetism
The earth turning in anti-advancement
As history repeats to a murmur of distant hope.
I stripped to the bone for you
Tore shackles and shame from its death grip
Left to choke within a brooding storm of love
It was reckless abandonment
Orphaning myself from the last leap of faith
As I laid waste to unresolved anti-satisfaction
As we clashed
As we ripped at each other
As we broke the final glass ceiling with our thrown stones
Jagged words sharpened into hidden shivs
The destruction was beautiful
It was the meteorites that fell from the fire sky
It was the crackle of simmering embers in the morning
A reminder that there was still a spark left
That within the gentle curls of smoke
There was oxygen that breathed, even when I stopped
Yet
I was lying
Lying for the sake of memory
Lying to myself
And lying to you.
I was the pressure pit of a filling gas canister
And you were the loose connection
Bound to my poison
Powerful upon your weakened state
And presidential within your collapsing city walls
You needed me
Because I told you so
I needed no one
That is why I both loved you
And loathed you
The reminder of my broken home
I as the shadow of my father
Looming over you
Puppeteering my wrist
Striking you as the wash against cliff face
Cleansing my history within its repeat
The devastation was beautiful
You were beautiful
Until I destroyed you
And punished you for letting me.
There's never been a moment
That I haven't looked upon you with sympathy
Pity
And somewhere
Somewhere inside
I know I shall eventually let you breathe
When the ocean calms
And the rocks are nothing more than sand
When the fresh footing of another feels you between their fingers
When your castle walls are built in firmer moulds
When the moon pulls me away
When the magnetism of emulation no longer holds me within its anger
Maybe I will say sorry
Maybe nothing at all.
Just watch you
Watch you walk away.
The day I realise I will always love you;
It will be the reason I set you free.
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 6:00 AM UTC
I love all good poems,
and how they make me
feel whole but deboned,
de~parted,
sometimes cleansed
sometimes *****
sometimes ashamed,
occasionally fried,
occasionally enlived,
often all of these,
simultaneously
I love how mine please you,
breaking the knots of anonymity,
unleashing the little white package
strings of connection, and, when yours,
make me guffaw, or even a better, person-age,
when we weep deep in our recesses where the
just-beneath-the-surface emotes, are pricked and
brought to the surface, for the first time, or the last of time,
exposed, curated, healed, leaving but a tiny sore, that lingers
on the body's surfaces,where all things.are etched that
are needy for a reminding of the when,
and here, right there, is the where,
but your loving of likes somehow
dissatisfying, like a kiss, perfunctory, skullduggery
or dis genuine, a hit and a move on,which is why,
I treasure your comments, long or short,
insightful or delightful, critical or critique(e),
just a tender heart of appreciation, a snuggle
from the sea, throned out of Jonah's whale...
rounded bellicose belly
but they render me
alive,
when they split and spit me, to you,
you, to each, defined in pieces, gratitude
nuggets, each, treasured, each hugged, each letter,
a custom bespoke of connectivity and
who needs friends, when your words
embrace me so deep repeat and touch me
in places where my heart must follow on & on.
now many poems you commission with every exposition.
even the dimplest thanks is a vibrato of pleasuring sounds, that
you, you, you, took that particular moment of time to
express the heartfelt, destroys the invidious
that does quiet creepily slides inside us,
saying I am your comforter false,
but is not!
use your words, that,
they to the children teach; let us too
embrace this honorific so terrific, and touch each other with
comments, a sharing, and the sol shines on
'we two too, for all to seer and see
Aug 4, 2025
Aug 4, 2025 at 2:32 PM UTC
How low lies the line, the thin
Separation of Earth and Sky, far, far,
Beyond the bending ambles, the
Solitary gables, where descending pylons,
Unroll their cables, deep into the womb
Of distant cities.
Bellicose clouds in league with
The sea wind, wrest samphire fragments
From a sentinel peace, while folding
The hamlet in pitying glamours
Of harridan water on slate.
In Spartan gardens, Bu-gloss leans
Bruised petals hard, by rusted stanchions,
as bind-weed , knots the flaking perch
Of tumbled gantries, in a throttled
Slew of searching.
Melancholy anthems, quiver and hail
In the breeze-plucked tune of loose
Slung wire. Pleas of long gone mariners
Mutter and choir through salted gorse,..
..
Hurry inland to rattle at doors of
Norman churches, as if seeking
Some last sanctuary.
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 6:47 PM UTC
.
And the waves crash down on a distant shore,
as worlds collide in a dramatic final encore,
a panic birthing universe, the original sacred chao,
bellicose suns carve furrows like a plough,
seed stars ********** from the maelstroms core,
illuminating that which was not there before.
The universe is a cell inhabiting a bigger store,
a microcosmic component born and newly restored,
internal explosions of chemistry creating divisions,
warping space about ideas, moulding time's schisms,
imagining life as the accident of a misplaced spore,
as the waves crash down on a distant shore.
© Pagan Paul (24/02/18)
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 6:38 AM UTC
To Sam
We were stellar; we shone so bright, with our own light, spectacular, blinding. For a while there, you got me believing in forever. You made me think that somehow, a thing so pure, so strong, could last for an eternity. I was truly convinced that ten, thirty, fifty years from now, I'd reach out and your hand would still be there. I had faith in us, in how innocent and pure what you and I had was, in how love, true love, unblemished by carnal desires, could still have a place in our world. I believed in the simplicity of 'my soul loves your soul and it has been so since the beginning of time.' Your hand in my hand was the safest, most secure place in the world. I sometimes existed simply because of the fact that we were invincible and would last long after the stars had all died out. How stupid, how childish.
We were floating, building castles of thin air up on the clouds, and came down to earth not with a bump but with a crash. With an explosion. I sometimes stand in the middle of the living room, spaced out, and wonder, what now? I feel this whole in my stomach, as if a black hole has swallowed all my insides, and there's an endless void inside of me, and someone keeps punching me so I double up, but the fists don't stop- and then a moment of bliss, and it all starts over. A modern-day Prometheus trapped in the confines of my own mind.
The whole world's turned bellicose, and I don't even bother avoiding the shrapnels; could any physically inflicted pain hurt more than the storm inside of me? The only certain thing in my life went to ruins; turned to pieces so suddenly, without the slightest effort. And I think, were we really so brittle? If the backbone of my existence crushed so easily, what is there to say about the rest of my life? My strongest belief was shattered, and thus, all my other beliefs turned out to be evanescent.
I sometimes wish one of us had died. In this way, I would have someone, something external to blame, someone else rather than myself, rather than you, to hold responsible for what happened. Someone else, something else to be angry at for taking you away from me. Because now I am left with bitter disappointment at humanity's inability to preserve something so innocent and rare as the love we shared. But we're both alive, aren't we? Forced to exist separately, forced to breathe on our, and to build our castles in the clouds by ourselves, because when you break china dolls and crystal glasses, you don't put them back together. You just stand there with your hands bleeding from trying to pick up the pieces.
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 3:13 AM UTC
Someday you’ll find me
Where the sunlight meets the sea,
Waiting patiently for you.
My spirit will be scattered across the surface,
Riding bobbing, bellicose waves,
And gasping for a nostalgic whiff of
Honeyed oxygen.
Know that my soul will be
Immanent in the rising of the tide.
While my wide liquidity hands
Slither across the sand,
Fervently longing
To catch a memory,
I will reach out to you.
Lastly,
When you hear the roar of the waves
Beleaguering brawny rocks on the shore
Know that it is me
Crying out for you,
Yearning to relive
The serene moment when
We watched sunlight kiss ripples
Effusing through tender waters.
For you, I’ll be content to
Languor in transit,
Bound between Heaven and Earth,
Engulfed by sunlight and sea,
Until we may ascend together,
Limitlessly.
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 10:38 PM UTC