Daily she hummed her favourite unknown tune
laboriously she scooped morsels of bean cakes
in skillful similar proportions into the sizzling oil
in the frying pan on a clay hearth emitting smoke
...
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'I'man’s inhumanity to man starts from the nuclei home when brutes with ill animalistic tendencies dominate wallow in the stupid aphorisms of “it’s a man’s world” I'm speechless at this poem. I was there with her, a stunning visual, and conscious piece.
scintilizing facts of isolated drama in an isolated continent.
I completely agree with Bianca's comment - this piece is undeniably visual, and so appropriately so. Your first stanza sets an image so clearly in the reader's mind that it is absolutely impossible to shake. You make this real for the reader in a way that even television news can't seem to. You've brought the other side of the world - home... to our hearts (where it belongs) . Christine