I donít like a fatal outcome, I never get sick of life. I donít like any of the yearís seasons When I donít sing cheerful songs. I donít like the cold cynicism, I donít believe in enthusiasm, and also I donít like it when someone else reads my letters, Looking over my shoulder. I donít like it halfway, or when a conversation is interrupted. I donít like being shot in the back, as much as Iím against shots at close range. I hate gossips in the form of versions, Hate worms of doubt, the needle of honors, Or when itís against the flow all the time, Or when the iron is put against the glass. I donít like being overconfident, Iíd prefer to let the brakes fail instead! Itís a shame to me that the word "honor" is forgotten, And that they talk behind someoneís back. When I see broken wings - Thereís no pity in me, and for a good reason. I donít like violence and powerlessness/weakness, I feel sorry/pity only for the crucified Christ. I donít like myself when Iím a coward, It is an offense to me when innocents get beaten, I donít like it when someone pries into my soul And even worse than that is when someone spits at it. I donít like the arenas, A million is exchanged for rouble Let the big changes come ahead, But Iíll never be able to like it.
© Aika Orozobekova. Translation, 2012