Yrjö Jylhä(1903-1956)
Is it true, is it a dream,
has the sky sowed still snow
on these death's hunting grounds
bloodshed and slimy?
Before that vision evaporates,
drink it, my soul, drink!
Or that earth blood black of eve
delirium only, terror of a dream?
Which is true, which false?
This for real is more desirable -
yesterday's netherworld landscape
from my mind I just can't get out.
Still to us snowsuits new?
From on us decayed five, six.
Safe are they in the luster of the snowdrift,
as shrouds quite clean;
on so snow-white cloths
even blood is stainless.
(Uutta lunta, Kiirastuli, 1941.)
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