I hate the endings that are grim and fatal,
I love my life and everything I do,
I hate all seasons of the year when I’m unable
To sing my joyous songs to all of you.
I hate the bitter cynics, cold like ice,
But pure excitement isn’t any better,
I hate it when a stranger’s drifting eyes
Peer from behind, to read my private letters.
I hate any half-hearted, fickle act,
Or when my conversations can’t be frank.
Or when one shoots another in the back,
Or even worse, - when it is done point-blank,
Or when the facts and gossip become blurred,
I hate it when suspicions do not pass,
I hate it when I’m rubbed, against the fur,
Or when the metal’s scrapped against the glass.
I cannot stand, both arrogance and pride,
I’d rather have my breaks abruptly fail!
It saddens me that honor’s pushed aside,
That slander hides behind an honest veil.
When I see broken wings, I don’t pretend to
Commiserate, or pity one’s demise,
I hate both domination and surrender,
Though something moves me when I think of Christ.
I hate it when I am scared. I feel appalled
When guiltless men are victimized and hit,
I hate it when they climb into my soul,
And when inside, I hate it when they spit.
I hate the markets and arenas filled with grime,
Where everything is cheapened in the trade,
Perhaps, a lot of this will change with time,
But I will always hate the things I hate.
By Vladimir Vysotsky
Translation by Andrey Kneller