Breaking the silence
A windless morning, clear and crisp, our tent is still in the grasp of silence. Nothing is moving until I turn in my sleeping bag, and as it slips against […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
Hoarfrost in March
There are morningsjust beforesun has conquered the mistwhen hoarfrost stillcan stick to the twigs. When the soundof your skisis the only answerto night’s remaining silence,when nothing has been saidon whereor […]
Police Man on a White Horse
At dawnthe pale horseman arrivesin silencethrough the fieldsdragging in its shadowdemons and brutes, and as deathit smotherswith sickness and swordthe morning mirthof bedrooms and kitchens, and In its wakecorpses are […]
The cold moon’s tale
Underneath —were earthworms windaround the bonesof decomposing bodiesone skeletal fingerremains accusingpointing skywards. A declaring digitgiving evidence againstthe assassin witha spadefor digging graves. But will the cold moonever tell the taleon […]
To be measured?
My love can not be measuredin the bloom of roses red orin the sweetness of a summer cherry,but as an artichoke in autumn. My love is not as a breeze […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 