Edith Södergran: Poems
Violet twilights I carry inside me from my ancient past,
naked virgins at play with galloping centaurs…
Yellow sunny days with sparkling appearances,
sunbeams only worthily envelop a loving female body…
The man hasn’t come, has never been, shall never be…
The man is a fake mirror which the sun’s daughter angrily throws against the cliff,
the man is a lie which white children don’t understand,
the man is a rotten fruit which proud lips deceive.
Beautiful sisters, come on up on the strongest cliffs,
we are all warrioresses, heroides, knightesses,
innocence-eyes, heaven-brows, rose-larvae,
heavy surfs and lost birds,
we are the least expected and the deepest red,
tigerspots, tightened strings, stars without dizziness.