Put yourself in the place of the Iraqi narrator of this poem and...

Put yourself in the place of the Iraqi narrator of this poem and write a narrative persuasive essay, resurrecting your way of life as it is described in this poem, and defending it against the American influences mentioned in the poem. Your essay must include a clear argument in favor of Iraqi life, past and present, and against American militarization. Some of the things you can discuss in this essay are: 

• The ancient culture of the Iraqi world as mentioned in the poem ("god of bull/ gods of fire ").
• The contemporary culture in the Iraqi world which also includes good and bad western influences, such as mentioned in the poem ("jeans and jazz, and Treasure Island").
• The American impositions that you denounce (such as, "James Bond s Golden pistol" and "blueprint of penitentiaries"). Don t forget to state why you denounce these.
• The desire to live the simple Iraqi life (such as, "the village homes" and "the god of the poor/ who emerges out of farmer's ribs" ).
• The devastation that America and its soldiers have wrought upon the freedom of your world.
• When referring to the lines from the poem, you must go beyond rewriting the poem as a prose piece. In other words, the words from the poem should be an inspiration for the perspective you provide, not the entire perspective. You need to use your imagination to create the voice of the speaker in your essay.
• The Essay is around 400-500 words. Thanks. Please corrected grammar errors, sentence structures before summit. 

Excerpted from " America, America" by Saadi Youssef
( translated from the Arabic by Khaled Mattawa )
I too love jeans and jazz and Treasure Island
and John Silver's parrot and the balconies of New Orleans.
I love Mark Twain and the Mississippi steamboats and Abraham Lincoln's dogs.
I love the fields of wheat and corn and the smell of Virginia tobacco.
But I am not American.
Is that enough for the Phantom pilot to turn me back to the stone age?
America:
let's exchange gifts. Take your smuggled cigarettes
and give us potatoes.
Take James Bond's golden pistol
and give us Marilyn Monroe's giggle.
Take the heroin syringe under the tree
and give us vaccines.
Take your blueprints for model penitentiaries
and give us village homes.
Take the books of your missionaries
and give us paper for poems to defame you.
Take what you do not have
and give us what we have.
Take the stripes of your flag
and give us the stars.
Take the Afghani Mujahideen beard
and give us Walt Whitman's beard filled with
butterflies.
Take Saddam Hussein
and give us Abraham Lincoln
or give us no one.
We are not hostages, America
and your soldiers are not God's soldiers . ..
We are the poor ones, ours is the earth of the drowned gods,
the gods of bulls
the gods of fires
the gods of sorrows that intertwine clay and
blood in a song. ..
We are the poor, ours is the god of the poor
who emerges out of farmers' ribs
hungry
and bright,
and raises heads up high. ..
America, we are the dead.
Let your soldiers come.
Whoever kills a man, let him resurrect him.
We are the drowned ones, dear lady.
We are the drowned.
Let the water come.