dug out from the shivaji park crossword the sole copy of CP Surendran's Portraits of the spaces we occupy. It is a patchy collections when compared to Canaries... but I enjoyed it over mucky coffee sitting in the midst of Himesh's ministrations to some suroor and a dozen young couples with things other than coffee on their minds. I must have been a strange sight.
Here is something that clicked in the head:
Key
No lock was safe from me.
I could blow through a keyhole
In nine different ways, pick tumblers
With my breath.
A lock with a hundred levers,
And all I needed was a blade of grass.
I took the secrets of my trade to the grave.
Such wisdom was best kept under lock and key.
But nothing prepared me for the worms.
They opened my crossed hands, opened my shest
Opened my eyes, bored through my brains
Kept me opening as I listened
To levers giving in
Tumblers falling
Doors opening, opening
A lock picked without end
The shaping of space.
(from Portraits of the spaces we occupy)
Amazing stuff.
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