I don’t like a fatal outcome, I never get sick of life. I don’t like any of the year’s seasons When I don’t sing cheerful songs. I don’t like the cold cynicism, I don’t believe in enthusiasm, and also I don’t like it when someone else reads my letters, Looking over my shoulder. I don’t like it halfway, or when a conversation is interrupted. I don’t like being shot in the back, as much as I’m against shots at close range. I hate gossips in the form of versions, Hate worms of doubt, the needle of honors, Or when it’s against the flow all the time, Or when the iron is put against the glass. I don’t like being overconfident, I’d prefer to let the brakes fail instead! It’s a shame to me that the word "honor" is forgotten, And that they talk behind someone’s back. When I see broken wings - There’s no pity in me, and for a good reason. I don’t like violence and powerlessness/weakness, I feel sorry/pity only for the crucified Christ. I don’t like myself when I’m a coward, It is an offense to me when innocents get beaten, I don’t like it when someone pries into my soul And even worse than that is when someone spits at it. I don’t like the arenas, A million is exchanged for rouble Let the big changes come ahead, But I’ll never be able to like it.
© Aika Orozobekova. Translation, 2012