Why I wake at night
Desired….. you, this dawn and dig- nity ignored, when promises are sylla- bled for firework and oleander tongues, cause this little death is when the clamshells close and lips are […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
Weapons, comfort and existence.
Words are my addiction; sometimes soft: a butterfly and sound of trees, or scent of snow — But words are often harsher, metals, minerals the kind you forge for war: […]
Only fiftyseven
Tick the box for yet a year cheer for all the new beginnings; sing the things for all that’s over slur intoxicated; dance and don’t look back for my forgiveness. […]
Escape or yet a prison?
I see a staircase leading to the stars; to his bedroom upstairs. For far too long, we have been locked by poverty and war. Between the bombings in Damascus to […]
Hemlocked
In the shadows by the lake I wandered wondered why the water hemlock’s scent sent waves of crimson sweetness through my veins, bane of summer (her) wants me to be […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 