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ADIAGHA WAS ONLY SIXTEEN

Darkness continued to light her paths
Since the last sunset sank between the golden hills.
The eastern sun can only bloom with justice
From the knife she had kept under the pillow for weeks,
Or at least, she'll have her freedom in chains.

Her husband will come back looking like a tadpole
That swallowed a full mound of watermelon
With flesh sagging from his cheeks,
And a fist to feast on what's in between her thighs.

How she loathes his hands,
This hand brought upon her by father
Who sold and bundled her like a commodity
Into the hands of the highest bidder in the guise of marriage.

She wept the night the news confronted her
Like a daring second wife upon the first
That she would be uprooted like a mushroom
Into the devil's pot of soup.
Mother thought it was 'tears of joy' because the man was rich;
But she wept for Edem the potter's son
Whose long term crush was finally crushed
And she had no say in it.

Bathed in blood, the splashes of red smeared the walls,
The trickle of fresh blood ventured into the electric socket
That sparked and left a foul stink of burnt.
She rolled him over, like a huge particle of rock falling off a volcanic mountain,
With knife comfortably enthroned in the depth of his throat.

She ventured into a corner drenched in blood,
Shivering like a cat locked outside the frost of harmattan
She could be free of battering, mauling and sexual abuses,
But the chains of prison and guilt had only began.

I could be next cause I'm now fifteen
Adiagha was only sixteen.

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Editing stage: 

Comments

..

Eumolpus
I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings

Again you have a winning narrative. So many good images and really invites the reader in!
I found the some of reading awkward like I couldn't establish a rhythm. Sometimes I'm inclined to take your powerful poetry and images and tweak them in to a meter and flow of sound I'm missing as I read aloud. I came up with this. I changed somethings, some repeated words and phrases which do not work (like crush and crush), and some things you are telling us which are redundant and not necessary. The reader gets the scene, it is common knowledge. You handle it well, as from a 15 year old in perhaps the same situaltion... I can give a reason for every change, but check this out first. Read it aloud. Tell me what you think.

Darkness continued to light her paths
Since the last sunset sank between golden hills.
The eastern sun to bloom with justice
From the knife kept under the pillow for weeks-
Or at least, she'll have her freedom in chains.

Her husband will return looking like a tadpole
That swallowed a mound of watermelon
With flesh sagging from his cheeks,
And a fist to feast between her thighs.

How she loathes his hands,
The hands brought by her father
Who sold and bundled her
To the highest bidder.

She wept as the news confronted her
Like a daring second wife upon the first
That she would be uprooted like a mushroom
Into the devil's pot of soup.

Mother thought it was 'tears of joy'
Because the man was rich;
But she wept for Edem the potter's son
Whose long term dream was crushed
And she had no say in it.

Bathed in blood, splashes of red smeared the walls,
A trickle of red ventured into the wall socket
That sparked and left a foul stink of burnt.
She rolled him over, like a huge particle of rock
falling off a volcanic mountain,
With knife enthroned in the depth of his throat.

She ventured to a corner drenched in blood,
Shivering like a cat
Locked outside the frost of harmattan
She is free of battering, and sexual abuse,
But the chains of prison loom ahead.

Adiagha was only sixteen.
And what of me
Who is now fifteen?

Eumolpus
I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings

I often write in free verses..., I wwould say is a typical African structure wwhen you asses African ppoetry closely...

Hommies

author comment

This is powerful, important work but would benefit from any of a number of prosodic additions/improvements. Especially meter.

Free verse may be a typical African structure, that doesn't make it the best structure for your own poem.

cheers,
Jess
Neopoet Directors

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