A cloud somewhere
When my hands have gonefrom writing cursive into typingmy notebooks blank,and ink has lost its meaning, Poetry is far away from dustbut rests unreadin a place that’s not a bookshelf. […]
The Language of laundry
The language of laundryis told in silencebetween neighborssometimes in secret,or a cry for help,like bedsheets washedtogether with lingerieon a Wednesday in Marchmay whisper infidelitywhile a ripped dresson Monday morning maybe […]
Until…
The screams insideis a pressure cookerbuilt from smiles, acceptinglies, injustice, corruptionbelieving I’m aloneuntil… …until somethingstirs the air voice of thousandson every streetcalling out in protestagainst the emperorwho with lack of […]
Nude on beach
By sea I rest in muted blisswith whisper of the waves is thismy sunscape? My skin caressed is kissed and pleasedto be tempted, tickled teasedby sunbeams I dress with leaves […]
The Room
Once in a lifetime you tiptoe intoa vacant room, not just devoidor airless but breathless, dustlessas in being left out; not outof spite but in care, like a seain turmoil […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 