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.
© Alexandra Leaving. Translation, 2007