Children of the night
“Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!” – Dracula Over moonlit graveyard there’s a moan from wind, where trees are limbs with claws to scratch, […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
Division deep inside
The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference. Elie Wiesel We stand divided, not from borders fenced with razor-wires, but fissured deep inside, a river Styx that’s running wild […]
Scent of chalk and books
I remember benches, scent of chalk and books. We had teachers; I had dreams and pigtails. I remember when they first arrived. Two men with guns, and how they tried […]
In vain I stitched
On the fringe of dreams I gather syllables from scents to sieve and sew and patchwork into quilts and mittens… Awake too late, but harsh this morning light in vain […]
Morning on the metro
In chthonic snaking underneath we’re crammed commuting flesh to flesh; with faces luminent, as if our death: is closer now when brought us fresh a morning when from Manchester we […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 