I do not like a fatal blow, I would never get tired of life! I donít like any time when Iím low, When I am sick, or losing my drive. I do not like cold cynical traits, Neither believe I in thrill. I donít like when one of my mates Reads all my mail, standing still. I do not like anything slack, Or when a conversationís cut short. I donít like a stab in the back, Nor like I a point-blank shot. I hate gossips, rendered as tales, Opium of praise, torments of doubt, Or when itís always against the grain, Or metal-on-the-glass-like sound. I do not like the righteous self-regard, I prefer if one blows his stack. Alas, the word ďhonourísĒ in disregard, And people honour talks behind your back. When I get to witness broken wings, I feel no sympathy for the demise, As I respect neither bullies nor wimps, Yet, I do feel for the crucified Christ. I hate myself if Iím too scared To stand up when innocents being hurt. And I donít like if I am unprepared When my soul gets smudged with dirt. I do not like big arenas or fields, Where millions are tallied with a dime. All the great changes the future yields Will never change my mind!
© Mirza Mechtiev. Translation, 2019