The random spectre of staying
Poem me with milk and honey, whisper marigold and pansies, sing me scents of sunny. Poem me in ash and charcoal, ink my veins with venom, sting me silly, close […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
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 […]
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 […]
