The genie of the apocalypse (fragment)

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 –

the apocalypse.

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.


Doubters, blasphemes,

don’t place your finger on the riddle of life.

Life is divine, life is for children.

- - - - - - - - -

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.