Revellers are ready dear,
so is the floor.
The game is about to start,
where are our masks?
Or, should we tell them,
after countless years in the vintage orchard
we became so addicted to each other that
we drank ourselves to the full,
and make merry at their expense?
The game is about to start dear,
where are the masks?
I worry about your mind vacant like your shelves
Once lined with books, files, awards, now gathering dust,
Under whose ceaseless pouring weight we bend and merge
Formless underground, emptied of our selves.
(Face to Face/CP Surendran)
From Portraits of the Space We Occupy
Wednesday, 10 October 2007
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