ring all the bells of Maidan
at five in the afternoon
in Tiananmen Square

bring traffic cones
and umbrellas

and pots

they’re shooting out the eyes
of the eyes of the world
to take our depth perception
and make us colourblind

to deceive us that all lives matter
and then convince us
that the ones who starve
are the ones who refused to eat

when the table never had a seat
for Iyad and for George
for Colton and Miroslav

but all the angry men with flags
will not unboil the kettle
when the steam escapes their grasp

even when they’ve reduced 

Chilean churches down to ash
and have our throats between their hands
until we cry out Mother we can’t breathe!

even then their rifles won’t pluck out the sight
of this band of global comrades
who use their hearts to see