I don’t think I can use the word hate, but I don’t like you very much.
You have the power to create worlds but choose not to intervene where it matters most.
You breathe the wind of life into our bodies but cast us aside like aborted foetuses when we cry to our death.
We starve by the millions but you give us no peace or wealth in our land.
We live in slums
Drinking out of the same puddles as our dogs
And you tell us that after death we will all be wealthy beyond measures.

I don’t think I can use the word hate, but I don’t really like you very much.
I don’t want your paradise if it means blindly following you.
I don’t want your paradise if it means praising your idle power.
I don’t want your unconditional love if it’s conditioned on my never believing that you are wrong.

I don’t think I can use the word hate, but I don’t think I like you very much.
We live segregated in plain sight.
We treat each other like trash or royalty because of skin that is black or white.

But  I suppose,
I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.
After all, you’re still the God who decided to separate the day from the night.
The moon from the sun.
And with a God like you, the world can never be one.