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THE AFRICAN SONNET

Pythagoras was Egyptian,
Ye camel soldiers of Sudan.
You lose your heritage and your pulse,
When you kneel to the cross.

See how you prostrate humbly
Worshipping your own mockery,
A revised doctrine
Raked from the dregs of your glorious spine.

We called him Horus,
They call him Jesus,
The son of God was Isis'
Today they say it's Mary's.

We called it Magic, they call it Faith;
This slavery seems to be a fate.

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?
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Is the internal logic consistent?
Last few words: 
The making of Christianity from the story of the Egyptian Sun god and the book of death.
Editing stage: 

Comments

as usual a raw and emotional work filled with rage. Your language and stance in the poem is strong!
I would keep the tenses consistent in the first stanzas You lose your heritage when you knell..
The third stanza feels a bit pushed and awkward to me.
Lastly the last line..."a fate" is awkward, as fate is a noun needs completion, like "a fate worse than" or needing a subject to what the fate is about- like bad luck was his fate. But
"This slavery seems to be a fate".... everything is a fate in a sense, I think you mean it differently,
that slavery was fated because of the lose of heritage.

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

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