I don’t like the fatal outcome, I never get tired from life. I don’t like any season of the year When I get ill or when I drink. I don’t like the cold cynicism, I don’t believe in confidence, Or when a stranger reads my letters, Looking over my shoulder. I don’t like when half of the talk Or the conversation is interrupted. I don’t like when one shoots in the back, I’m also against shooting head-on. I hate the fabricated gossips, The worms of doubt, the prick of honors, Or when I am rubbed the wrong way, Or the sound of iron on glass. I don’t like the well-fed confidence, It’s better if the brakes break down, It annoys me that honor is forgotten, I hate when the informing is honored. When I see the broken wings, I don’t feel pity, and here’s why: I don’t like force or impotence, I pity only Christ on the cross. I don’t like myself when I’m a coward, It annoys me when the innocents are hurt, I don’t like when one creeps into my soul, Especially when one spits into it. I don’t like all kinds of arenas, On them there’s nothing but risk and death. Let there be great changes to come, And I won’t like it even more!
© Nathan Mer. Translation, 1991