My identity as portuguese

I see myself as Wepwawet,

Who opens the gates of Duat.

From those gates come plague,

Enslavement,

Genocide.

A forest torn down in Brazil,

Heads cut in Timor,

Slave ships in the Atlantic.

Is this my legacy, oh Empire

Where the sun never sets?

No.

I love my tongue but not my hands.

I love my soul but not my spirit,

Destined to join my ancestors.

I am me,

I am the white oak,

And I reject this parody of Lusitania.

“Lusophone”, you say?

I don’t even type in my mother tongue.

Apologise, Portugal.