On the stones and sands and dewey grasses I am racing at my curious pace, For my gaitís unlike all other horsesí: I am not like everybody else.
On my back the sores, are oozing blood, And my sides are trembling with the pain. I would race, and gladly, with the herd - But without the saddle and the rein!        
        I shall run today with other racers. Racing time! Iím favourite today. Everyone lays money on the pacers - Thatís the way the jockeyís money lay. And he urges me with whip and spur, Crowds are cheering, jeering like insane... I would race, and gladly, with the herd - But without the saddle and the rein!
               
No, today the jockey will not force me, I will be the last one past the post; I will teach the swine to use the horsewhip - I will rear and kick, and come in last! Thereís the bell! My master pulls ahead. He is grinning: victory spells gain. Ah, how I would gallop with the herd - But without the saddle and the rein! What is this? What is it I am doing? Aiding him, my enemy - the worst! Iím beside myself, Iím spurting, flying - Itís beyond me, not to be the first! Ah, what can I do but spurt ahead! Only first, Iíll throw him on his can - Then I will race on, as with my herd, With a saddle, but without the man! I came first - and he can count his losses - Only this time, pace or no pace. I was just like all the other horses - Out to win, like everybody else!
© Sergei Roy. Translation, 1990