I hate when of fatal outcomes I hear, I never tire of life, despite its wrongs. I hate any season of the year Whenever I cannot sing cheerful songs. Hype excitement I distrust without heeding But open cynicism I hate as well, I hate a stranger over my shoulder reading To find out what my private letters tell. I hate stopping a conversationís track Or anything done only halfway through. I hate when people are shot in the back And shots point-blank, I despise them too. I hate gossip as viewpoint affirmed, When honours prick, when worming doubt I feel, Or when you always stroke against the fur Or the sound of glass when scraped by steel. I hate complacency content and sated - Iíd rather see brakes well and truly fail. That the word "honour" is forgot, I hate it, And that "honour" is hiding lies and veils. I feel no pity seeing broken wings And itís not strange I donít find it inside: I hate abuse, and I hate helpless things But itís too bad that Christ was crucified. I hate myself, when cowardly I crawl; Innocents being beaten, I abhor, I hate it, when they push into my soul, And spitting in it, I hate even more. I hate manŤges and arenas; there They trade rubles for millions, hand in glove. Let changes come ahead; I do not care - These things I will never, ever love!
© Tamara Vardomskaya. Translation, ?