I donít like the fatal outcome
I never get tired of life;
I donít like any time of the year
When I donít sing happy songs.
I donít like cold cynicism,
I donít believe in exaltation, and also
I donít like when a stranger reads my letters
Glancing over my shoulder.
I donít like when something is half-done
Or when a conversation is interrupted.
I donít 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 donít like self-satisfied confidence,
Itís better if the brakes fail;
I am vexed when the word "honour" is forgotten,
And slanders behind oneís back are honoured.
When I see broken wings
There is no pity in me, and not without reason;
I donít like violence and weakness
But it grieves me to see crucified Christ.
I donít like myself when I am coward,
I feel anger when innocents are suffering.
I donít like when people worm themselves into my soul,
Especially when they spit into it.
I donít like maneges and arenas,
They exchange millions for one rouble there.
May be there are big changes coming,
But I will never like this.