"gallantly" poems
To smile at the carnation,
So gallantly growing,
At peace with this world.
In silence...
I tune in a short conversation
Between minds and bodies -
Incredibly cold.
My heart has surrendered
To nightingale's song.
I dream of Rhode Island...
I'm leaving! So long!
The winds of Sonora,
My nannies and friends.
My love for Evora -
My tears know no end.
The shadows of Mordor,
With sunrise they fade.
Grace, Kindness and Splendour:
Three Buddhas in jade.
I feed roastede pidgeone
To poor ryebread crumbs.
Avoiding curmudgeons,
I'm playing professional dumb.
Caressing the grass-blades,
I live in a drop.
Arcadian arcade:
There, God has no job.
In hurting the Nature
We drain our souls.
Let’s all at once cease
Being ignorant ghouls.
...To stroke the carnation,
To gently kiss buds.
To eat simple meals
Like lentils and spuds.
To carry some water,
To chop down some trees.
To stop feeling rotten.
My soul is at peace.
The time is forever,
The purpose is now.
No “when” and no “where”,
No “why” and no “how”.
The light effervescent,
The sound circumaural,
The hearts ever-pleasant,
The dreams polynomial.
...Collapsing eternity,
Upheaving humanity,
Rock-bottom fraternity,
Defying the gravity.
Creative destruction
Is staunchly forbidding.
The wisdom of ancients
Is widely-misleading.
Depleting our anger
Is key to survival.
Harnessing the hunger,
Improptu revival.
Combustion of senses,
Precarious laughter.
Incurable sepsis,
Delirious canter.
Regrets are forgotten,
Bright days are all-cherished.
Let’s live unbegotten
Until we all perish.
13.06.2012
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 8:13 AM UTC
A short and an earlier popular poem of mine. Hope you like it! Thanks, - Raj, New Delhi.
THE SURF-RIDER !
See him riding gallantly the crest of
waves,
With dexterity and poise and flowing
grace!
He rises to descend, to rise once more,
As the waves keep rolling towards the
shore!
Like those surfs the Rider continues his
mellifluous dance ,
Be it in England, in Spain or in France;
Riding high on waves as if in a trance!
The wind churns up the waves as it rises
and swells,
As the Rider manoeuvers his wake-board
riding those crests before it breaks !
Like a gymnast he executes strong cutbacks
- to reverse his turn,
His spirit dominate as the waves rise and
churn!
He did take his time to perfect his art ,
Having loved the sea and the surf from the
very start!
He learnt to live in moments just like those
dancing waves,
Floating on their crests as his blood within
raves!
Those surfs like musical notes rise up and
fall,
Where some surfs are short and others tall !
Like a philharmonic conductor par-excellence,
He commands those waves with his skilful
presence!
Friends, riding on Time’s moments is no mean
art,
But like the Surf-rider one must make a gallant
start !
-Raj Nandy, New Delhi
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 11:22 AM UTC
i am of the light
despite
my shroud
that crowds the villains in the toppled telemetry of my steeds
galloping gallantly from the burning cities of my dreams
i shall gleam from her or he
that which delivers
their truths faithfully to their dreams
open wounds turn invitation
in the pity of hungry thieves
who dared to dream
of peasants king-ed.
as we sing
sing
of desperation
in passionate confessions
of jaded wisdom
passed on through every failure
never to falter
in the betrayals of Walters
lost
in loss-less flac files
i have miles to go
smiles to grow
daggers projectiles
from mild mannered children
freshly ridden
of maniacal miracles
spiritual
but not stupid
we are troopin
this lucid movement
grooving
to the repetition of the drum
the gas blow back of a gun
the bursting bubbles of bubble gum
having fun
i learnt goodly on the run
learned nothing in victory
learned nothing in simplicity
complacently
snickering it all away
bullet by bullet
case by case
and eventually the blade
in my compassionate displays
we shall congregate
and hate ourselves
**** the donks to hell
dwelling on the cellar doors
that darkos teacher adored
in verbal massacre
of the written literature
of cracked brain fixtures
seeping the lines
in cold tingles
down the spines of maniacs
just relax
mix it down on a track
spit the thesis into pieces
through the creases of cracked sneakers, and out the speakers
of trouble seekers.
mistakes make us
deliberate chaos
tossed
upon the fakers
who cry to think
the dream
became a reality
mistake us
for serrated blades that rip the hearts from beasts
sometimes i stop to think
while having a drink
conclusive brinks
of sanity creaks
of my humility
secreting
frivolously
the disposing of my jealousy
of your feelings
hellaciously
i rip a felony
from a face
in appealing agony
antagonizing me
in the frenzied forensics
of my oblique
outlooks
none of us
were ever crooks
speaking to self
while being booked
in hell
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 1:36 AM UTC
Strumming the untuned strings, he stares drunkenly into the setting sun of yesteryears songs, sung of lost dreams and the birthed ambitions of the dark, dark days to be.
Happily, he tears up in the fortunate tragedies, of the reclamation in his dreams, as he seethes out the damnation of his steeds, galloping gallantly through his being.
All seeing, in the finite fleeting when he sings, of strummed dreams to the rhythms of heart beats lost, embossed on the epitaphs of kings.
Sad songs of dreams once had.
Be glad for that, which does not **** you, only to bestow upon you, the gratitude of the weirding ways, in passionate display for us all to play nice.
Shake these dice and jump aboard this bus of wandering poetry, from the porches of poets singing to the sun.
From the morning Moet, to the afternoon beer run.
we sing of dreams
of better things
we blaspheme
and spin the scenes
of our murdered dreams
and just clean the guilt away
I am so awesome as to be devoid of fault.
I am a god that cracks the asphalt.
I am the angel signing the clause, of deserved harm.
I am the indentured servant sounding the alarm, with the charm of a Trojan horse, forced to adhere to the most righteous path.
The first
The last
Laugh of inevitability
Honing in on the ability to capture the longevity of dream warriors, in the lock of predators, in the employ of a senator, from the center of the heart, to impart on you the fear from thieves caught in the plight of those fraught with the graces of an exterminator, exterminating the pro-creators of your world. Soldiers unraveled in the lavished gavels of real criminals drowning in their own subliminal theories of the self imposed heresies of intention.
Free will
A fragile blessing
I cracked, all so long ago, as i gently bestow my belligerence upon your innocence and **** it all away.
I'm the ******* son
Strumming for the only one.
Once.
Before the lore of the storm.
Born of the swoon of a gun.
More than one.
Once.
As the day faded into night, his strumming turned plucking, as he slightly eased from reprise to silence, in the whisper of nights words, easing him into the blur, of sleep.
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 3:46 PM UTC
I know I have been happiest at your side;
But what is done, is done, and all's to be.
And small the good, to linger dolefully--
Gayly it lived, and gallantly it died.
I will not make you songs of hearts denied,
And you, being man, would have no tears of me,
And should I offer you fidelity,
You'd be, I think, a little terrified.
Yet this the need of woman, this her curse:
To range her little gifts, and give, and give,
Because the throb of giving's sweet to bear.
To you, who never begged me vows or verse,
My gift shall be my absence, while I live;
But after that, my dear, I cannot swear.
2.8k
A perfect man for me was never moulded by a box,
A box that screamed multitude of labels
To satiate the chaotic minds of society,
A belonging judged by feudality, no rhyme or reason required or questioned.
A perfect man for me was never measured by material things,
He gives abundantly by just being around,
An illuminating source of comfort on the other end listening,
Empathising and leaving a trail of laughter that makes me fall even deeper.
A perfect man for me was never masked crusader (okay, maybe Batman sometimes),
He is maskless for the world to bask in his genuity,
No bounds or limitations set on his acts of kindness and love,
Selfless and generous with his time, blind to any creed or pedigree.
A perfect man for me was never one to run away from problems,
Valiantly facing the raging bulls head on,
Inner strength personified by his poise and determination,
"I will get through this unscathed and no one will stop me".
A perfect man for me was never an owner of a cold crackled heart,
Headstrong, gallantly keeps the family together in a bind of unconditional love,
Lovingly adores his sunshine, making sure she knows she is loved with the same fervour,
Day in and day out, void of complains and pettiness, as the world turns.
A perfect man for me was never perfect,
Owning up to his flaws and shortcomings and being aware of mine,
A cycle that is never vicious but one that is laced with acceptance and non-judgments,
He inspires the best version of myself as he aspires to better himself.
A perfect man for me spells Y-O-U,
And the way that you are is exactly how I love Y-O-U.
Shalini Nayar
24.11.14
(C) 2014
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 9:51 AM UTC
Explosions of grief won't greet her death
Great men won't be summoned to speak
Bands of mourners won't wail at her passing
These gestures she will not seek
Just mingle the day with music and madness
Make the day one drooped in frost
Children must carry her down winding roads
Clarinets must moan her loss
Then at an hour no one knows
A man must visit her grave
He'll kneel and touch her tombstone
And smile a mysterious way
He'll be dressed head to toe in somber black
Conveying his grief gallantly
Just let him place one pink rose at the site
And rejoice in his memories
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 3:13 PM UTC
High-mindedness, a jealousy for good,
A loving-kindness for the great man's fame,
Dwells here and there with people of no name,
In noisome alley, and in pathless wood:
And where we think the truth least understood,
Oft may be found a "singleness of aim,"
That ought to frighten into hooded shame
A money-mongering, pitiable brood.
How glorious this affection for the cause
Of steadfast genius, toiling gallantly!
What when a stout unbending champion awes
Envy and malice to their native sty?
Unnumbered souls breathe out a still applause,
Proud to behold him in his country's eye.
2.6k
The yellowed dome cracks upon the surface
Of the moistened soil that stretches to make
Their way, emphatically filling most base
Space between dried stubs of flesh - never fake
Fruitless fingers - cracking, brushing, but now
Healing by comforting the path I pursue
With the wake of the rooster.
Home left warming behind, I gallantly
Saunter toward more humid, fume-fed airs
While leaving the thoughts that so quaintly
Filled my head, forgot to ingrain, and failed,
Allowing growth to myself.
Sun hung, high-noon, the dew fades all too soon
Creating a creaky concoction kept
Together (of sounds) by bare breaking-bones
Feet against gravel, dusty, rocky steps.
Sky set so wearisome and pink, I fall
To my knees in the midst of high terrain
Marked by thin grasses and rolling hill plains;
As I beg for mercy, not from this all-
Endowed sight, but from God(s) who seem only
To make this life right - I'll collapse further,
My hands move mountainous dirt and holy
Diadems of twig, while I decide - worth
When shall I dig?
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 10:09 AM UTC
Just for a handful of silver he left us,
Just for a riband to stick in his coat—
Found the one gift of which fortune bereft us,
Lost all the others she lets us devote;
They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver,
So much was theirs who so little allowed:
How all our copper had gone for his service!
Rags—were they purple, his heart had been proud!
We that had loved him so, followed him, honoured him,
Lived in his mild and magnificent eye,
Learned his great language, caught his clear accents,
Made him our pattern to live and to die!
Shakespeare was of us, Milton was for us,
Burns, Shelley, were with us,—they watch from their graves!
He alone breaks from the van and the freemen,
He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves!
We shall march prospering,—not through his presence;
Songs may inspirit us,—not from his lyre;
Deeds will be done,—while he boasts his quiescence,
Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire:
Blot out his name, then, record one lost soul more,
One task more declined, one more footpath untrod,
One more triumph for devils and sorrow for angels,
One wrong more to man, one more insult to God!
Life’s night begins: let him never come back to us!
There would be doubt, hesitation and pain,
Forced praise on our part—the glimmer of twilight,
Never glad confident morning again!
Best fight on well, for we taught him—strike gallantly,
Menace our heart ere we pierce through his own;
Then let him receive the new knowledge and wait us,
Pardoned in heaven, the first by the throne!
2.3k
1562
Her Losses make our Gains ashamed—
She bore Life’s empty Pack
As gallantly as if the East
Were swinging at her Back.
Life’s empty Pack is heaviest,
As every Porter knows—
In vain to punish Honey—
It only sweeter grows.
2.3k
Agony of the fantasy, so lazily, with no probability
the ecstasy so randomly seen with eyes of atrophy
my heart beats so rapidly for the sake of catastrophe
so i gallantly step on the travesty of the compatibility
i casually see my casualty through eyes of calamity
searching so actively for a canopy of rationality
my mind thinks abnormality is better than conformity
actuality meets versatility or circumstantial amity
thinking elaborately not organically, of reality
a tapestry so naturally put together differently
visually vivid quality is a visible consistency
no commonality, critically crushed by normality
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 3:51 PM UTC
across the canals we gallantly roamed
our engine horse drawn
the quilt of the bubolic defines us,
basking under hazy willow
the scattering of cowslip and orchids
purveyed through the bankside,
with the staggered moon
pacing our miidnight dreams
amongst croaking frogs
and the knowing water vole
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 6:40 PM UTC
A master magician at hiding
While running and gallantly striding
Your message is strong, you gallop along
With spirit continually guiding
Independent you move with the group
Making headway you learn to recoup
Ready to bolt, to rebel and revolt
If your light should get caught in a loop
Your harmony steadies in trouble
A clean break away from all struggle
Lessons are taught, even when you're distraught
As you truly embrace them and juggle
When problems arise in the east skies
You remember the sun also dies
And though it falls down, it comes back around
To greet us the next day with bright eyes
Spirit Zebra be with us to find
Let our strength and our courage unwind
Into all of the holes, deep in our souls
That we carry throughout our lifetime
Teach us patience to love every side
So that we may enjoy how we ride
Some days we will glow, some days will be low
Love will teach us to rise not subside
To see everything, just as it is
To live the truth of this regardless
Return stronger yet, from any upset
With a chance for new growth and progress
You teach us to seek balance and truth
Till the end of our days from our youth
Standing confidently, strong as can be
Building skills that will calm us and soothe
With every step forward we've taken
Your wisdom unfolds and awakens
All of our needs, teach us how to succeed
Good or bad, we shall not be mistaken
We are shifting between light and dark
We are always igniting the spark
A few steps gone back, will put us on track
With pure faith we will soon disembark
tHE tERRY tREE
Photo | Google Images | Poetic Form | Gwawdodyn
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 5:50 PM UTC
We mourn the loss of our little pet,
And sigh o'er her hapless fate,
For never more by the fire she'll sit,
Nor play by the old green gate.
The little grave where her infant sleeps
Is 'neath the chestnut tree.
But o'er her grave we may not weep,
We know not where it may be.
Her empty bed, her idle ball,
Will never see her more;
No gentle tap, no loving purr
Is heard at the parlor door.
Another cat comes after her mice,
A cat with a ***** face,
But she does not hunt as our darling did,
Nor play with her airy grace.
Her stealthy paws tread the very hall
Where Snowball used to play,
But she only spits at the dogs our pet
So gallantly drove away.
She is useful and mild, and does her best,
But she is not fair to see,
And we cannot give her your place dear,
Nor worship her as we worship thee.
2.1k
ROBBED BY TIME
Once upon a time,
A friend in need at all times,
Time was such my best friend
And so we hopped till the end.
To my castle he'd come,
For he was always welcome
Any time he ever wanted to,
Something my queen loved too.
We'd ramble woodland paths together
As he reeled off one story after another,
All day long having a good time
Till when castle bells could chime.
Time was not of this world,
But a great war lord
Of a very far away land,
King unto the realm of fairy land.
He who had a novelty crown
Bestowed upon him by a fairy clown,
A crown not of gold but of palest silver,
A precious gem from the fairyland silva.
With lurve in the air one morning,
My friendship with Time died aborning
When he chose to do something frivolous
Just when the Sun's rays were so glorious.
Time emblazed my heart,
Something that didst hurt
When he smiled unto my wife,
Such a great shock unto my life.
He gravitated towards her after a deep sigh,
Like a whirlwind, my mind whirled high.
He thus gallantly asked her for a dance,
And was granted a golden chance.
Keenly I watched this flint-hearted boy,
Thought him skint but feared not nor coy.
With alacrity and in broad day light
Together they cwtched in delight.
He whom I always enjoyed with the wine,
There enjoying with a queen of mine
Whilst committing mischief;
This friend of mine such a thief.
Time whispered thus into my Queen's ear,
Whispers I could hardly hear:
Alas! He promised her the moon
For they'd eloped by noon,
To places strange I might never have a clue,
To where mortals have never dared walk to,
All the way to the realm of fairy land,
Such, such a very far away land.
©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros
10th Aug 2016.
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 9:09 PM UTC
take me to those troubled seas
you have so gallantly sailed
those high-brick walls you alone have climbed
where others seem to have failed
show me how to create rainbows
pine trees and candy bars
landscapes of silver and gold
even diamonds that look like stars
teach me how to appreciate life
beauty and love
tell me about mermaids and faeries
or even angels up above
for how wise you truly are my fragile one
a lot can be learned from you
in your own little world you have become
an artist with a different point of view
how i wish i could understand
these wonderful things only you can see
but with eyes like mine it's as if i'm blind
and this is all that i can be
but you my child with your poetic soul
the universe that you'll create
will be filled with joy and laughter
and a million reasons to celebrate
Sep 5, 2010
Sep 5, 2010 at 9:01 PM UTC
Precious gem,
Gleaming so gallantly.
Streaming light into streets.
Luminescent gem,
Containing Dragon souls.
Shining on her neck,
Breathing fire down on the world.
Precious gem,
Agonize thy souls.
Never to be free again.
In this human world.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 1:14 PM UTC
Talent.
So so Far I've seen the talent-less and the talented
**** heads until their skulls cracked and we peered in
and saw a garden growing green leafy creativity
Gallantly trotting across the right brain like the breezy morning wind
And as we looked away and declared the winner had won
but cracked his skull on the stubborn brick wall
the talent-less had spun
out of hard jealousy and mortar crafted from their own lack of self discipline
The sun even sighed
died for a second
then came back alive only to find the talentless
still forrunning their forte
up every frigid full soul he found on his way
So the days saddened into rainy Saturdays
19 in a row
with the downpour too vicious to even kiss on the cheek as a pity way of putting across that
"you should really go"
the rain rained down boulder sized bouts of concentrated creative energies
only able to be ****** up by sponges with cracked skulls
and thus made into uncracked skulls
mended skulls
Talented unabridged uncensored skulls
that may drown out the talentless
just like the rain and storms tried to muster a try at
And by that we only see the talented come out walking with rain pouring Into their brains
getting ****** up by extracorpus veins
Not because they were born with contraptions
but because they avoided distractions
and gained traction in this multiverse where everything happens with struggle
and pain.
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 12:54 AM UTC
i was going to write a piece using the word we entirely too often. talk about the slip of your palms down my cheeks, the floaty high after you don't sleep for forty-eight hours and then skip gallantly through the albertson's parking lot. i was going to write this immense prose with weaving metaphors and phrases that begged to be spoken. a piece with a moral, about a boy and a girl, or maybe two girls, or an animal and the voice that haunts it. about a willow bride with gauze wrapped firmly around a puncture wound. describe the inner monologue of a park bench. but maybe not, because that would be deleted.
i could write you a letter, because you know who you are. or the empty waterbottle that is staring mournfully at me, or burlap sacks, or the words that i speak of constantly but never speak.
Jan 3, 2011
Jan 3, 2011 at 6:14 PM UTC
From the helter skelter
In a helter skelter dash
For solitude at the esker
I strayed in a labyrinth
Of dark soaring woods
Here-upon, trees begun to move!
An optical illusion it seemed to be,
Though a moment my eyes did love;
But in a mean time, out of kilter
Was the avenue to the esker.
Wandering midst soaring woods
Serendipitously there I beheld
An elegant creature,
A creature with a velvety
Pale unblemished skin,
Lilly white as porcelain,
Gaily yet opalescent as an opal,
With curling glossy auburn hair,
Mellifluously whispering a lullaby
With verve in the wanton air
Whilst flapping her wings
To take wing.
On feasting about her impeccable face,
It thus dawned upon me:
"She was not of this our world
But an alien, an angel rom outer space."
Swiftly, I gravitated towards her
And unto her said I was lost,
Lost like leaves beneath the frost
Upon my way for solitude at the esker
However the sheer cynosure
She'd taken my fancy
Hence moonstruck for sure.
She gagged me, cwtched me,
Enveloped me in her wings
And merrily took wing
Whilst I gallantly kissed,
Kissed her nectar kisser.
Past mullbery skies we soared,
All the way unto her land of bliss
Where upon we swam naked,
Naked in halcyon waters,
Waters of her land.
Together, we made poetry
Of love and life so blind,
Cherishing moment after moment
One could search forever to find,
Whilst gallivanting from star to star,
Only alone by ourselves on yonder
To a very distant colourful clime,
Yonder beyond restrictions of time.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 8:50 AM UTC
little feet dashing across the playground with light-up shoes and arms raised and poised to hold our weaponry. swift movements mark the territory with memories of traipsing through our makeshift castles. when we’re children we gallantly save princesses with long tresses who cry from the tops of towers, fearing uproarious dragons and the darkness of the sky. we protect the princesses from terror, and some of us grow up to become them and learn to protect ourselves. the tall dragons shed their prismatic scales and flinch as they feel the girth of our swords. after much opposition, we face our fears and instantaneously make the final strike and become victorious. we turn and look through the binoculars of our hands and spot nimble thieves stealing the shimmering scales in exchange for their own greed. they climb medieval walls and we try to catch them. impulse clutters our line of vision and we go because there is no time to waste, we don’t want to lose them. sometimes they return the stolen treasure and sometimes its a lost cause. we learn the latter later, through long sighs at lonely 2 ams after seemingly infinite words have spilled out on paper and out loud out to those who can’t come back and those who can but won’t. but the former fleshes itself out when we experience moments of kismet. these days where we share conversations with people who satiate the hollow corners of our hearts and walk outside and breathe in the petrichor just as the sun has wriggled its way into the sky. we learn life is as vivid as any story we become momentarily enchanted by. people come and go as fast as the pages that inspired our childhood adventures turn, and everything happens at once. we face demons as beastly as our dragons but we have our warpaint on no matter how hastily drawn it is, and we convince ourselves of our strength until it’s real to us.
we were the heroes of the story then, light-up shoes running across the playground, and we are the heroes of the story now, playing and living in the light-up world.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 10:01 PM UTC
She howls at the moon in the midst of the night. Seeking lost souls trapped and screaming in fright. Her cries play melodies of melancholy trials lost, her spirit stolen callously at a grave cost. Roaming the dense fog on hallows eve Watching the dead rise, I'm sure many were known to be wise. As she so gallantly skips past ancient tree's they whipser vintage stories about Victorian times and all its glories. Tree leaves construct reenactments of ****** wars riddled of death and destruction among differences of the people, only wishing to gather and come together at the church steeple. Her howls are searched among the hollow lands above makeshift graves of innocent people seen as second rate, not suprising of their final fate. Beings born with no guidence for a undeniable ratchet societies views, she howls as she hears the news. Her ravaged heart however battered still beats, I am She Wolf.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 6:44 PM UTC
I was breathing in the beauty of Scala dei Turchi,
as I sat atop pure white marlstone crescendo,
etched by the winds and the rains of time;
the view emphatically embracing the coast of Agrigento.
‘Twas along those balbutient banks of the Mediterranean sea
I saw him silently standing there,
his hands resting in white linen pockets,
the salt wind blowing through his peppery hair.
Serenely somber in quiescent stillness,
he was dashingly debonair,
his form earnestly beseeching, a wish
delicately wrapped in the guise of a prayer.
He peeled his stare away from crystal waters clear,
I was transfixed by eyes that gallantly gazed at me;
eyes that emerged from pools of a deep sorrow,
eyes as transparent as the turquoise blue sea.
Deftly ascending those limestone cliffs,
he was reminiscent of Saracen pirates penetrating;
with such determination of gait and surety of purpose,
he approached me with palpable power emanating.
His drawing near sent my heart swiftly a-pounding,
a halo of light behind his sun-kissed face –
I imagined I saw a shadowed smile emerge
as he nonchalantly quickened his pace.
He took his place beside me
atop the pure white marlstone crescendo;
and we waited for the sun to descend,
against the skies of beautiful Agrigento.
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 3:20 PM UTC