Behind the blue door
With afternoon-warmth of cobblestones penetrating my soles I searched through the alleys of Mykonos. “A blue door with a lemon tree inside”, She’d said, that night of past still vivid […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
Before is after
This is before or after whichever you like best or maybe it’s that precise moment when the umbilical cord was cut, for some it was before, for a mother it […]
For a young boy
Unbroken boy, be brave your grave’s yet shallow, when worms of marrow rest Be blessed in youth, be raw cause yet no sorrow’s claw, no flaw has marked your skin, […]
Posthumous stars
War was waiting, mud and lice and itch of sweat trapped in wool. It was waiting in the company of trench rats fat from rot of flesh. It was shell […]
While weeding my garden
The way they weave and weed their words around conspiring, eating truth. Does it matter only how a lie is told? Can we only paint the world in black? Have […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 