i’m scrolling down a page of pictures –
decapitated heads of girls
who didn’t have much choice
but to learn quickly how to shoot
and don uniforms
with the red star

the media is asleep
but doused with gasoline
the houses and streets in kobane burn
the airmen of wealthy nations sleep
correspondents eat fortifying
supplements the free world with great effort
fights terrorism

the virtual scroll bar’s especially alive
but it doesn’t reach out to help
the men and women
the elderly and young
who lie on barricades
encircled by captured tanks made in america
and clothed in wrong uniforms
with the red star

what is red might only be blood
the flag of the turkish spring fades
who’ll remember next autumn
the hero arin mirkin
or the thousands of anonymous
and unimportant
fighters warring against those of great faith

the final trembling timpani of the ode to joy
in our eyes it grows in darkness
the frightfully mute rectangle
the reflected screen

that’s how kobane defends itself
don’t forget


Translated by Lynn Suh. Photo by Karl-Ludwig Poggemann, cc,


Poet, musician & cultural activist based in Poznań.