I don’t like the fatal outcome,
I never get tired from life.
I don’t like any season of the year
When I get ill or when I drink.

I don’t like the cold cynicism,
I don’t believe in confidence,
Or when a stranger reads my letters,
Looking over my shoulder.

I don’t like when half of the talk
Or the conversation is interrupted.
I don’t like when one shoots in the back,
I’m also against shooting head-on.

I hate the fabricated gossips,
The worms of doubt, the prick of honors,
Or when I am rubbed the wrong way,
Or the sound of iron on glass.

I don’t like the well-fed confidence,
It’s better if the brakes break down,
It annoys me that honor is forgotten,
I hate when the informing is honored.

When I see the broken wings,
I don’t feel pity, and here’s why:
I don’t like force or impotence,
I pity only Christ on the cross.

I don’t like myself when I’m a coward,
It annoys me when the innocents are hurt,
I don’t like when one creeps into my soul,
Especially when one spits into it.

I don’t like all kinds of arenas,
On them there’s nothing but risk and death.
Let there be great changes to come,
And I won’t like it even more!