The lament of the tools

Edith Södergran: The Rose Altar

For me life sank into blue smoke.

I stand up straight

with nothing else above me than the threatening copper sky over which I rule.

Why is this burden lifted onto human shoulders?

Why does iron armour enclose my heart?

Am I not allowed to be human?

Like nightly black sorrow the way lies behind me,

between rosy shadows I roam like a homeless god.

- - - - - - - -

Piece by piece you broke off my heart, almighty god,

and made me your tool.

I belong to you with body and soul

and with the remains of my pawned life.

I cry. The tears fall where I walk,

the tears of the rockhard one.

Where does my mouth still find words for its lamentations

in immovable affluence?

My nights and days

are written in your book, oh god.

Nothing is mine on the Earth,

not as much as a flower.

Oh, to be the richest!

To have it written over your brow,

to play the strange game of fate

on demand by necessity.