Turn up the bass mother
I can’t hear his footsteps.
Green faces
Black tattoos
White heads
Watery souls
Turn up the bass mother
I can’t hear his whisper
He's gone so long now
I've been counting years
Seems like yestersday,
he said goodbye
Turn up the bass mother
I can’t hear his heartbeat
they walk like gay children
through the paddy fields
looking for someone, for freedom
and their long gone friends
scouring eyes
miss the little ant castles
dried leaves shout
the ears are hidden behind steel
Turn up the bass mother
I can’t hear his footsteps.
Green faces
Black tattoos
White heads
Watery souls
Turn up the bass mother
I can’t hear him breathing
grass, her head bowed
friends lie lifeless in her lap
she awaits the carnivorous priests
atleast the cows deserve last rites
earth, tilted and stripped
bathed in crimson of her children
lets out a puff of her skin
a zephyr asks the broke back trees
was she a bad mother?
silvery faces
purple tattoos
scarlet heads
swampy souls
They walk through weeping lands
under the burden of freedom.
Turn off the radio mother.
Please write to dad.
-Author - Prashant Kohli
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