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Long terrace of hopelessness,
Sheeted with the beams of sand,
Like a brown blanket,
Spread over a grassland;
That we begin to decay,
In the hustle for photosynthesis.
Will this race die away before this harmattan mist is lifted?
It is the question that cloud my mind,
As I watched the emaciated children,
In an endless war with malaria and cholera.

Cobras sharpen their venom in the zenith of the sun,
To sting us in the heel.
With all the oasis dried up,
Children travel far,
To the smoldered rivers,
to dig a hole and dip their clothes in it,
And then squeeze the droplets into their lungs,
To have a taste of life,
Now who cares about hygiene,
When all they need is a little orgasm to tame the horny tongue?

The splashes of blood remain on our walls
As Bokoharam blow our children into pieces
And the tears of the widows are the only fountains to spring from our desserts.
Homes burnt to the ground,
Cities grazed to rubles,
The wails of homeless kids are the music that strike our ears,
And this orgy leaves an erosion path in our hearts,
Yet the Church of God persecute us,
And we are the Satan,
Because our daughters wear hijab,
And our sons pray in Allah's name.

Jesus Christ will not stop accusing us,
That every cow boy owns an expensive riffle,
But can't afford a cheap plate of rice,
Life is very absurd!
Daily they kill my innocent brothers in the East,
And in the South and West,
Yet the media feign ignorance,
Because we are northerners,
Therefore we are all Herdsmen, Bokoharam and terrorists.
They vent the punishment of few men
Equipped and used by political overlords,
To mistreat and hate the totality of a race.

We are marginalized,
Because people put religion before humanity,
They stick to the stereotype,
So they call it North, but we call it home.

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?
Last few words: 
The Poem is set in Nigeria where religious conflicts seperates the north from the East and South, with Bokoharam and Fulani Herdsmen (two Northern terrorist group) still causing hhavoc in country as we speak. The activities of the terrorist group has left a negative stigma on the innocent poor Muslims from the north who are often percieved as threats when found outside the northern desserts, thereby regularly victimized and hated. This poem is a decry from a northerner describing the tribulations they pass through in the country bringing into fore as well the poverty stricken locality marginalized despite being situated in a poor infertile desert where water scarcity has become a major disaster. Malaria and cholera plague, terrorist activities as well as Christian revolters from the East and North take their lives daily while the media overlook their calamity.
Editing stage: 


are quite stunning. Now we know where you are from!
You have a magical ability to create emotion in the reader with your imagery.

After a few readings, I cannot decide whether I like the poem as it is or would like to see revisions. My problem is the occasional "statements" that are more factual than poetic. Such as "Life is very absurd!" or "Because people put religion before humanity," I'm not sure if you have to "say it" but keep going at these "truths" with poetic truth- the images you use, the snake, the bloodstained walls, are very very powerful.

But either way, it works because you have told the world about Nigeria in a very powerful way.

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

I have finally settled on this style where I pay less attention to rhythm instead paint more images that invoke emotions. I want to iron out a style peculiar to me. Maybe more allusion will be visible in my future works with very few rhymes


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