I don’t like the fatal outcome
I never get tired of life;
I don’t like any time of the year
When I don’t sing happy songs.

I don’t like cold cynicism,
I don’t believe in exaltation, and also
I don’t like when a stranger reads my letters
Glancing over my shoulder.

I don’t like when something is half-done
Or when a conversation is interrupted.
I don’t like when they shoot in the back,
I am also against shooting point-blank.

I hate rumours masking as versions,
Worms of doubts, needles of honour
Or when it is always up the wrong way
Or the sound of iron scratching glass.

I don’t like self-satisfied confidence,
It’s better if the brakes fail;
I am vexed when the word "honour" is forgotten,
And slanders behind one’s back are honoured.

When I see broken wings
There is no pity in me, and not without reason;
I don’t like violence and weakness
But it grieves me to see crucified Christ.

I don’t like myself when I am coward,
I feel anger when innocents are suffering.
I don’t like when people worm themselves into my soul,
Especially when they spit into it.

I don’t like maneges and arenas,
They exchange millions for one rouble there.
May be there are big changes coming,
But I will never like this.