Edith Södergran: The September Lyre
Humans, it swells in my breast.
Flames, smoke and the stench of burned flesh:
it is the war.
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I’ve come from the war – I arose out of chaos –
I am the elements – in biblical movements –
I glance over life – it is divine.
The war is mine – your silent master’s army-millions,
who needs you? The precipices yawn.
Inexplicable things happen behind the curtain of fate.
don’t place your finger on the riddle of life.
Life is divine, life is for children.
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The Singers weren’t harp players,
no – disguised gods – God’s spies.
The singers of old times – comfort yourselves,
good blood has flown through your veins –
the most extravagant red warrior-blood.
The spirit of the song is war.