Grandpa, I held your hand and it was like papyrus
Coined by sacred writing,
owed by your life
Grandpa, I turned my back on church as you did
at the time when your soldiers heart was wounded by war
Grandpa, church for me is an abstract principle
Is it disgraceful to think that when faith inspires our family?
Grandpa, but all of this is institutionalised
centuries-long businesses made up by men
the bitter history of colonized land
Grandpa, your grandchild is drowning in white veils,
rich in lace
Overshadowed by the blessed Virgin Mary,
this ideal statue of a woman
Who never puts her stony eyes off me
Grandpa, my gender ist still crying bitterly
But they don’t believe our despair
My words are trapped -
So tell me why no God ever solved this
The prosperity of white men