I never like a fateís sepulchral stare And never treat my life as dull or bleak. I never like the any time of year When I am ill of something - or just drink. I never like a cynical heart-colding, Think thereís no excitement - and one more: When someone very else above my shoulder Reads letters that for me somewhere were. I never like half-done, half-thought, half-witty Or when ŗ talk is killed, a face-to-faith. I never like a gun behind a victim, As well as I condemn the point-blanks. I hate those gossips in a rank of versions, A worm of doubt, a thorn of lauding fuss. Or - when a hand of power brings distortion, Or - when a blade of iron tortures glass. I never like self-confident repletion, For me breaklooseness is a better form. I feel the pain if honour is untreasured And if a secret slander is the Norm. When broken wings bleed hard - and Iím a witness, I feel no pity then - and that makes sense. I never like nor violence, nor weakness, But pity Jesus Christ - it takes place... I never like my self when fear made it, Get furious when innocence is guilt. I never like my soul to be invaded, Especially - be spoilt with a spit. I never like a limelight - straight and sweating, This odd exchange: your pearl for their thrill. Though big and hopeful changes are awaiting, I know Iíll never like it, never will!
© Ivan Samokhin. Translation, 2010