I offer you, today, all that I am and have:

my life, my body and all my dreams,

my troubles, my doubts, my firm resolve,

my hope although it's wrapped in fear;

my pain because sometimes I want to but can't;

my embarrassment because at other times I can but won't.

My rebellious spirit and my intuition;

my untamed character, my stupid pride;

my irritation when I don't get what I want,

my fury at being discriminated,

in your name by the clerical laws

that your Word has gagged.

Here I am as you know and I am,

with the silence to my daily demands,

the irresponsibility of those in command,

justice that never arrives on time

and my parched throat which cries out,

like the female character of your parable.

Sometimes I criticise myself,

for not speaking what I should be shouting about,

for not shutting up fast enough about the things I am saying;

and at other times, I confront others and You

for how easy it is to forget that we are

brothers formed by your breath and your hand.

Together with my unease, for my weakness,

I offer you, Lord, my affection and my kisses,

the clearest, freshest and freest possessions that I have;

and I also offer you my satisfaction,

since inertia was never my companion

and it never stopped me from swimming upstream.

Maintaining my hopes - mad hopes, they say,

I hope, and I hope so many things,

that sometimes I ask myself if I'm not being over bold

at continuing to dream about the utopia

that you announced when you came to this earth

and I wonder if my breast can welcome your surprises.

But, in my debility and doubts, I am relieved, Lord

that you love me like that instead of when I am disillusioned or lukewarm.