Bhati doesn’t know me.
Bhati wouldn’t care.
He looks in my direction
And all he sees is air.
His eyes are burning beacons
His eyes are so alone.
As cold as morgues at midnight
As motionless as stone.
Bhati doesn’t know that
A bird inside me tries
To home towards the beacon
Of his lonely, lonely eyes
He’s a quiet man, is Bhati.
But not one you can ignore.
In that solemn head of his,
Bhati keeps a silent score.
But I hear a thousand echoes
For the words he cannot utter
Like he’s at one end of a tunnel
And I’m standing at the other.
They branded him and caged him
They rubbed him raw and red
They roasted Bhati on a spit
Till his charred ol’ soul was dead.
But I would rain upon your wounds,
I would set you free,
If you’d only let me, Bhati,
If only you would see.
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