Beneath Flagstaff’s plane trees, in a borrowed age,
They move like echoes freed from stone and page.
Feathers crown the brow, bone-white masks declare
The dance of life with death entwined in air.
Drums speak softly where the grass is worn,
Old worlds awaken in the Melbourne morn.
Between the paths, where past and present meet,
Ritual breathes again on urban feet.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
I'm delighted with the original costumes and masks. Fantastic!
ReplyDeleteSending you warmest regards.
Nice
ReplyDeleteMasked Warriors!
ReplyDeleteThese are some of my favorite photos.
ReplyDeleteThey look very scary!
ReplyDeleteUna gran foto, com totes les d'aquesta sèrie.
ReplyDeleteSalutacions!
Stunning, Great captured.
ReplyDeleteFabulous photo and your poem truly captures the spirit of the picture.
ReplyDeleteHappy Monday
ReplyDeleteMy Monday Post
HERE
🎇much love
Fascinating costumes!
ReplyDeleteThat looks wonderful. It must have been fun :-D
ReplyDeleteWow, what a greatful shot... many thanks for sharing at MosaicMonday
ReplyDeleteIt really does look as though you took these photos in a time warp! Thanks for taking part in the "My Sunday Best" meme.
ReplyDelete